


For Science

by OldToadWoman



Category: The 4400
Genre: Case Fic, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-26 03:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 72,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15654810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldToadWoman/pseuds/OldToadWoman
Summary: Casefic with smut. Post-series story dealing with the aftermath of the promicin outbreak and what it's like in a city where nearly everyone has an ability. Meanwhile, with their separate love lives imploding, Marco and Diana decide to join forces in some personal sex research (for science).





	1. Diana Has an Idea

**Author's Note:**

> possible triggers: 
> 
> 1\. Discussion of sexual assault. Nothing happens "on screen" or to any of our regular characters, but there is discussion in the context of a case (where "dubious" consent is claimed as a defense when there was no consent) and also in the context of pop culture (where a few flippant comments suggest some people are less offended than they should be). 
> 
> 2\. Violence involving firearms (not especially graphic? but it's there)
> 
> 3\. Grief and loss (but mostly just in an abstract sense)
> 
> 4\. Infuriatingly-manipulative authority figures 
> 
> 5\. An awesome woman who should never doubt herself constantly doubting herself
> 
> The story is pretty mild fluff. (Spoilers be damned: I promise you a happy ending.) But there are a few thinky-thoughts along the way.
> 
> * * *
> 
> See end notes for a full list of characters. I didn't tag everyone either because of spoilers or because the character doesn't get much to do, but I know some people want to know ahead of time.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Huge **THANK YOU** to [Purpleyin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleyin/pseuds/Purpleyin/works), [Amilyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amilyn/works), and [Hannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannah/pseuds/Hannah/works) for beta-reading. 
> 
> This story that took me _years_ to get around to finishing. Hence, a huge thank you to the people who came up with the [WIP challenge](https://wipbigbang.dreamwidth.org). I would never have found the motivation to finish this without [WIPBigBang2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/WIPBigBang2018). (It's a miracle I ever complete anything without a deadline.)

**2007**

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

To hell with new beginnings. Starting fresh was overrated. 

Who needed a new boyfriend? Diana had a solid history of spinsterhood and it was working just fine for her, thank you very much. She liked her old life. The promicin outbreak had turned it all on its head. The _end_ of the promicin outbreak had … turned it on a different head? It was too early in the morning for metaphors. She just wanted to stop the world for ten minutes and enjoy a cup of coffee before having to chat with coworkers. 

"Hey, Diana," Abigail chirped. _She_ had obviously had _her_ coffee this morning. 

Diana liked Abigail well enough, but she had to admit to experiencing the tiniest pang of jealousy when they'd met. Just a tiny pang. Not even a pang really. More of a ping. Barely a ping. 

Abigail was beautiful and smart and when she was assigned to the previously all-male theory room, she became the goddess among geeks—which had previously been Diana's place when she visited them. It wasn't that Diana wanted to have a romantic relationship with Marco (and certainly not any of the other brains in the basement), but she had selfishly enjoyed knowing he still carried a torch for her. There was a touching affection in the way he used to look at her. She missed it. 

The theory room revolved around Abigail now. Marco had clearly been besotted even from the moment she arrived. Following the promicin contagion that struck down half of NTAC, Abigail and Marco were the only survivors of their department. They bonded over the tragedy and over the adjustment to their new promicin-induced abilities. Marco could teleport. Abigail had become some kind of numbers genius, an ability perfectly suited to her job. Everyone else in the theory room was new and looked up to Abigail for leadership even while Diana still thought of her as the new kid. 

Several months later and Marco was still dressing to please Abigail as well. It had started out harmlessly enough and Diana—despite the pang that was really just barely a ping—had approved of the stylish suits that Abigail picked out for him at first. But it had escalated. He was now wearing ridiculously expensive shoes that Diana couldn't see any point to at all. And he'd traded his adorably dorky glasses for contacts, which just made him look beady-eyed as far as Diana was concerned. And two weeks ago he started slicking his hair back. Losing the glasses was sad enough, but messing with the bangs crossed the line. For starters, he had a large forehead, which she'd never noticed before, and the slicked-back look combined with the beady eyes was not flattering on him. For another thing, he looked like he was trying too hard. The combination of it all left Diana with an unpleasant oily feeling. He was no longer her dear sweet unaffected Marco. 

Of course, he wasn't _her_ Marco at all. That was the point. At the last meeting, they'd found themselves sitting next to each other at the table and Marco had given her a polite smile, the awkward polite smile of someone who feels trapped and fears he might possibly be obliged to make small talk while the doughnuts were passed around. She had descended all the way from the light in his eye to the old acquaintance he had nothing in common with any longer. 

To be fair, it wasn't just Marco. A lot of people were giving her that look these days. She was the ultimate outsider. Immune to promicin, she was the only one among the survivors of the recent tragedy at headquarters who did not develop an ability. She was lucky to have survived. Yet there was an undercurrent of pity surrounding her from those who had developed useful abilities—and thinly-veiled envy from those whose abilities were, well, _not_ so pleasant. (In addition to all the deaths, they'd lost two agents to mental breakdowns with several more on indefinite leave until they could get their new abilities under control.) 

Jed Garrity treated her normally, well, as close to _normally_ as any of them did. And that was likely because he hadn't yet decided if his new ability was a blessing or a curse any more than he had firmly made up his mind whether he was a _him_ or they were a _them_. But most of the others, including Tom, always looked like they'd been cornered by their maiden aunt at the family reunion and were doomed to talk about cats all evening. There was no obvious reason in Tom's case as he, in theory, had been safely out of harm's way during the outbreak and should not have an ability either. But a little bird named Maia had hinted otherwise. 

On this particular morning, Diana was not a fan of the human race, the male half in particular, but she had thus far already extended her rage to include anyone who'd been driving on I-5 that morning and whoever it was who left just half a cup of coffee in the pot without making more. You'd think the NTAC staff room was being used by a pack of wolves. No, she decided, wolves would have been more efficient. 

"How'd the big date go?" Abigail asked. 

"When Maia leaves for college, I'm joining a convent." 

"Ouch. That bad?" Abigail pouted sympathetically. If Diana didn't know better, she'd think Abigail was mocking her, but she'd never been anything but genuine. Abigail had probably been on the pep squad in high school. "And you were looking forward to it so much." 

"And then when Maia graduates from college, she can move straight from her dorm into the convent with me and bypass the whole dating scene entirely." 

"Okay. Wow. _That_ bad. Do you want to talk about it?" 

"I _want_ a cup of coffee." Diana banged the drawers as she searched for the coffee scoop. _Seriously, people. How hard is it to remember to leave the scoop in the coffee canister?_ "Also, I want Marco's bangs back. He looks like a lawyer." 

"What?" Abigail was giving her the have-you-lost-your-mind head tilt, which Diana probably deserved. She reminded herself again that she _liked_ Abigail or at least hated her no more than the rest of their species this morning. 

"Look at him. Tell me he doesn't look like a lawyer or something else slimy." 

"Not all lawyers are bad." Abigail cut herself off when Diana responded with her own have-you-lost-your-mind head tilt. The date last night was a lawyer. "And, anyway, that was not my doing. Marco does what he wants. It has nothing to do with me. I may have picked out a few suits for him back when we were dating. And I may have asked if he'd ever considered contacts, but that was the extent of it." 

Diana stopped mid-scoop. "Wait. 'Back when you were dating.' You and Marco broke up?" 

"We didn't 'break up' exactly. We just decided we were better off as friends." 

"Oh." That was nearly exactly what Diana had told him when _they_ broke up. "Oh, poor Marco." She glanced down and realized she'd lost count. "Damn it!" 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

"Hey." Marco tapped on her office door even though it was already open. "Do you have a minute?" 

She looked up from her ceramic cup-o-sludge and saw him standing in the doorway holding two large paper coffee cups from Seattle's Best Coffee. 

"I understand there was a slight misadventure with the coffee maker this morning. I thought you might appreciate this." 

"Marco Pacella, you are a saint." 

"Abigail said you were upset. She seemed to think I should talk to you." 

"You realize that's just chick code for, 'Go and bring back gossip,' right?" 

Marco nodded. "Kinda. Yeah. She said your date went really badly. She's actually worried for you. You're… _okay_ , right?" 

Marco's eyes darted around her body. If he'd been anyone else, she'd have suspected ungentlemanly motivation, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that he was checking her for bruises. His concern was sweet, but well off the mark. Now would be a good time for a change of subject. "It didn't go _that_ badly. I'm fine. So, when did you and Abigail break up? I didn't see that coming." 

Marco sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, we decided a few weeks ago that we're better off just friends and co-workers." That would correspond with the stupid hairstyle. Poor guy really _was_ trying too hard. 

"That's harsh." 

Marco squinted at her. 

"I _know_ ," Diana agreed. "That's _why_ it's harsh. She's not supposed to copy my schtick like that. It's like salt in the wounds." 

Marco sat down at Tom's desk. Tom was AWOL again and Diana had given up even worrying about it. "At least you dumped me before we had sex." 

Diana did a double-take at that. "You're _glad_ we never had sex? Can I ask why?" 

"No, I didn't mean— Of course I wanted to have sex with you. I mean—" Marco literally face-palmed, took a deep breath, and started over. "What I meant was that because we broke up early in the relationship it seemed less personal and, I guess, I liked to hang onto the fantasy that if we ever had, well, maybe it would have been different. Except, apparently, I'm not quite the stud I liked to imagine I was." 

Diana took a moment to parse all of that, because … wow. 

"Abigail dumped you _after_ you had sex, so you view it as a commentary on your sexual prowess?" 

"Basically." Marco took a sip of coffee and slouched further into Tom's chair. 

"Huh. That's exactly what happened to me." 

Marco glanced over his coffee cup at her and squinted again. He _really_ needed to go back to his glasses. He looked half-blind every time he did that. 

"The truth? My big date that went bust? It was great. We had dinner. We went to a gallery opening. Went back to his place. It went very well. _Very_ well." 

"Ah." 

"I got home around one a.m. thinking I had just had a fabulous evening. This morning I try to call him, straight to voicemail. Tried to send him an email, I get an auto-reply saying he's out of the office, which is total B.S. _And_ his username is mysteriously missing from my online messaging contacts. He _blocked me_. Mere hours after what I thought was an amazing date, I got cyber-dumped without so much as an explanation." 

"Ouch." 

"So don't expect a lot of sympathy for getting friend-zoned by Abigail. It sucks, I agree. But I am all out of sympathy." 

"That, that just makes no sense. How could a guy dump you the morning after great sex? I know why Abigail dumped me, but—he's a guy." 

"And guys are pigs. Present company excepted." 

"Yeah, what I mean is, I mean, um, he finished, right? I mean, he, er, enjoyed himself, right? That is, obviously it's important that you _both_ had fun." Marco winced and quickly added, "Not that you have to tell me whether you did or didn't. That's obviously not my business at all. I only meant that he's a _guy_ and, from the male perspective, sex is like pizza, y'know?" 

Diana nodded and sipped her coffee. The saying went something like, _Sex is like pizza; even when it's bad, it's pretty good._ Diana always felt that the _bad sex_ category required an awful lot of caveats for the saying to be even close to true. She could not believe they were having this conversation. "The pizza was delivered if that answers your question. Everyone enjoyed their pizza." 

"That makes no sense," he repeated. 

It was slightly cruel, but she was grateful for the distraction, and she was curious anyway. "So, Abigail, not so much with the enjoying? Did _you_ , um, _deliver_ your pizza?" 

"Oh, yeah, mechanically speaking, all systems go. It's apparently a question of technique. Or something. She wasn't really specific. Which isn't helpful. I mean, how do I know what I did wrong so I don't do it again?" 

"Well, for starters, that hair is ridiculous." She'd meant to just tease him a little, the way they used to, but he looked genuinely hurt and she instantly felt terrible. "I'm sorry. That was rude. I just think you looked cuter before with the bangs and the glasses." 

"No. No. Okay. See. This is exactly what we need. Honest feedback. People always say what they think the other person _wants_ to hear instead of what they _need_ to hear. Anything else?" 

"Um." How much honesty did Marco really want? "Okay, some women go for the snappy dresser, but, to me, frankly, I see a guy in a pair of shoes like that I just think 'pimp'." 

It wasn't the lifts or the fake alligator texture or the excessive length in the toe or even the eye-catching shine, though that last was what made them hard to ignore. They were red. _Today_ they were blue. At least twice, he'd shown up with one of each and she wasn't sure if he'd done it on purpose or not. It was just her luck it was a new trend no one had told her about. 

"Okay. Okay. No pimp shoes. Duly noted." 

"What about me? What do I do that turns a guy off?" 

"Well, you make a lousy pot of coffee." 

"I'm serious, Marco." 

"Okay. So pimp shoes and hair gel are a turn-off." Marco bit his lip before continuing. "Your sweater vests are a little … mom-ish." 

"Mom-ish?" 

"You look like a mom." 

"I _am_ a mom." 

"Well, yeah, but… like… station wagon mom." 

"I do not drive a station wagon." _God, am I Carol Brady? Do they even still make station wagons?_

"Your sweater vest says you do." Marco was smiling, relaxing again as the conversation returned to light banter. 

"Yeah, well, your contact lenses say you sing karaoke in the backroom of a pirate bar where they serve drinks in plastic skulls." 

"Get me drunk enough and I just might." 

"It's no good." Diana took another thoughtful sip of the good coffee. "I wasn't wearing a sweater vest last night." And Diana already knew that the sweater vests were on the dull side, which is exactly why she wore them to work. A professional woman's wardrobe had to walk that narrow ever-shifting line of being attractive without actually being sexy. "So why did I get dumped?" 

Marco frowned. She was dragging the conversation back to uncomfortable places just when she'd had the opportunity to laugh it off. Maybe _that_ was what she always did wrong. "Diana, you are beautiful and smart and good and …" 

"Good?" She rolled her eyes and reached for the first file in her inbox. NTAC had been going paperless for as long as she'd worked for them and while the electronic files and emails continued to increase, the paper files never seemed to decrease. 

"Do not discount good. There are a lot of people in the world who aren't good. Selfish, petty, manipulative, vindictive, dishonest, and worse. Never take good for granted. _You_ are good. Also, beautiful and smart." 

"But not really sexy?" Diana suggested. It was a skill that had long evaded her. She'd spent the last decade working hard to maintain the aloof professional aura. Her sexy skills were a little rusty. 

"Oh, totally sexy," Marco insisted. "You are the hottest woman in this building." 

"Hotter than Abigail?" They were joking again. Which was good in a way, because a serious conversation about failed relationships was awkward, but was bad in a way because the key problem remained unresolved. 

" _Way_ hotter than Abigail." 

"Hotter than Meghan?" 

"Meghan isn't even in the same class as you." 

"Uh-huh. You're just saying that because she's never gone out with you. If she were an actual possibility, I bet that Meghan would rank fairly high on your sexy meter." 

Marco shook his head. "I wouldn't have sex with Meghan Doyle if she begged me." 

There was a hesitant tap at the open door and Marco nearly flipped Tom's chair over. He managed to correct with one flailing arm and only a few drops of spilled coffee, but the whole maneuver was significantly lacking in dignity. Diana smiled. It would have been even funnier if it _had_ been Meghan, but it was Jed standing in the doorway looking a little perplexed and embarrassed. 

"Um, have either of you seen Tom?" 

"No, sorry." 

They held themselves together until Jed was out of sight and then they both broke up laughing. 

"We never talk about sex at the office again," Marco said. "Agreed?" 

"Can we talk about sex _outside_ the office?" Diana asked. "This conversation is potentially useful." She dropped the file back on the pile on her desk. 

"You're actually worried about this, aren't you?" Marco frowned at her with sad puppy eyes and she debated whether to brush him off and let it go. Or … 

Diana took another sip of coffee and stared Marco in the eyes and then sighed before finally admitting. "I just wish I knew what I was doing wrong." 

"Ditto." 

"Let's be clear about this," she said, leaning in and lowering her voice slightly. "What we both mean when we say that is basically 'in bed', right?" 

Jed just had great timing today. "Um, have either of you seen Tom?" 

Marco glared at him. "No!" 

Jed picked up on the tone of voice. "But you have seen _me_ then?" 

Diana had spent more time working with Jed Garrity since the promicin outbreak than Marco had, so she wasn't put off by the question. "You went that way." 

"Thanks." He didn't seem too bothered at having misplaced an entire extra self. 

"Man, I cannot get used to that," Marco said, fidgeting with Tom's stapler. 

"Imagine how he feels." 

"You mean 'they'?" 

"Temporarily they, but as I understand his description of it, when he reintegrates, he's back to a single entity with multiple memory streams. When he splits, each copy has all the memories and personality of the original and 'they' are only separate individuals from the split-point forward until the next reintegration." 

"That's so weird." 

"Just because you lucked out with a cool ability doesn't give you cause to judge others." 

"No judging. No judging at all happening here. And believe me, I'm grateful for the teleporting. It beats turning plastic into flowers." 

Diana had to agree that Meghan's ability was pretty odd, but even that could be worse and this was all off-topic as far as she was concerned anyway. She had a proposal for him. No, _be honest_ , she told herself. She had a _proposition_. "Okay, Marco, I'm serious. We need to meet after hours to have an honest discussion about this. Think of it as our own private self-improvement workshop. I tell you what you're doing wrong and you tell me what I'm doing wrong." 

"But, the only way we'd know that is if—" Marco smiled shyly and despite the greasy hair and contact lenses and snazzy suit, for a moment he was her sweet, dorky Marco again. His pupils went wide as his mouth went a bit slack and he didn't appear able to find an ending to that sentence. Diana felt an unexpected shiver ripple down her body. Having sex with someone who could look at her with such longing was actually _very_ appealing. 

Marco cleared his throat and started over dropping to a whisper, "The only way we'd know that is if the two of us had sex." 

Diana barely even glanced at the doorway this time and didn't wait for the knock. "Neither of us has seen Tom and at least two of you went that way.” She placed her full focus back on Marco. “Think of it," she told him, and she was aware that there was a slightly predatory lilt to her voice, "as being for the greater good. We'd be doing it for science." 

Marco nearly panted through a lopsided grin, his bottom lip literally quivering. "Oh, well, scientific data collection for the greater good, yeah, so, strictly for the greater good, I'm free _tonight_." 

This was Diana's last chance to laugh this off and gracefully make a strategic retreat. But there was something fascinating about the idea of a sexual critique and Marco was the only man she could think of that she trusted to be honest enough to make it work. "I have a parent-teacher meeting at Maia's school tonight." 

Marco smiled wistfully as if he had already known it wouldn't actually work out. 

"How about Thursday, seven o'clock, your place?" she asked. 

Marco nodded like a bobblehead and Diana decided this was the perfect moment for a dramatic exit even though she didn't have anywhere else to be. She winked at him as she sipped her coffee and walked out the door. 

♥…—…—…—…♥


	2. Diana Hates Her New Boss

♥…—…—…—…♥

"Sorry, I'm late. Traffic," Diana said as she slunk into the meeting room. 

It wasn't a lie exactly. Traffic had been awful, but then morning traffic was always awful which is why she normally left home a lot earlier. Diana just hadn't slept well. Parent-teacher conferences were a special kind of hell, especially with a daughter like Maia, bright and sensitive yet with a knack for unnerving her teachers in ways that Diana could never predict. If only this time it had been as simple as Maia's precognition. _I am so not ready to have this conversation with my daughter. So not ready._ Diana had tossed and turned only to finally fall asleep just in time to sleep through the alarm. 

"No need to apologize, Agent Skouris. You're nearly the only one who has arrived on time." A strange man in a business suit stood at the head of the table. Brown hair, white skin, the kind of body you'd describe as _average_ (when what you really meant was _quite fit and a touch on the tall side_ ). He was blandly good-looking in a way that somehow wasn't actually attractive, a living Ken doll. Diana had never seen him before, but she immediately pegged him as the reason for their meeting. He had an air of authority, or more accurately, the air of someone who took it as his right to be irritable and condescending at an NTAC meeting. "Apparently," he said tightly, " _all_ of NTAC has decided to take their time this morning." 

Jed Garrity and Meghan Doyle exchanged a sympathetic glance. Apparently, they didn't count. Diana looked around the room for a quick headcount and was surprised to see most of the chairs were still empty. Most surprising of all, sitting unobtrusively back in the corner was her own sister April. Where once she would likely have bounded forward and given Diana a hug—or started a fight, it could go either way with the Skouris sisters—she now sat, demure and professional, and only tilted her head slightly in acknowledgment. 

Abigail, Marco, Jim, and the other guy arrived in the next moment. Meghan introduced them collectively as "our theoretical analysts" and then directed them to the back of the room. 

Diana wondered if Meghan couldn't remember the other guy's name either or if the theory team was really that unimportant to their visitor. It was just as well. There was a reason they normally kept the theory team separate. Several reasons actually, which made it odd that they were all here. 

Matt Carmichael arrived next and _finally_ their visitor found someone he was interested in. "Agent Carmichael, good morning." 

Matthew Carmichael was tall but lean, which made him look younger than Diana knew him to be. She'd been stunned when she'd first learned he was thirty-four. She'd originally guessed a decade younger. He had dark smooth skin, angular cheekbones, and a broad nose. She'd only seen him in a police uniform once when they first met, but he still seemed ill at ease in a suit and tie. 

The new mystery agent strode forward and shook hands even as Carmichael demurred. "It's just officer. I'm not really an agent." Carmichael cast an unsure glance at Director Doyle. "I think?" 

Meghan stepped forward. "Officer Matthew Carmichael, this is Agent… Washington." Diana noticed the faintest hesitation in the introduction. Did Agent Washington have no first name? Were they not allowed to know it? Or was Agent Washington on assignment in Washington state from the home office in Washington D.C. just as flimsy a pseudonym as it sounded? "Matt here is actually on loan from the Seattle Police Department." 

Agent Washington smiled. "Hardly 'on loan'. That would imply we plan to give him back. From what I've heard, Agent Carmichael is too valuable for that." 

Something in that set Diana's teeth on edge. "I'm sure Officer Carmichael can be quite valuable in the Seattle P.D. as well," she said, in what she hoped sounded like a light airy way. 

Carmichael nodded and, oblivious to the power-play, added, "I've actually been thinking of enrolling in emergency medical training and then taking a job as an EMT. The pay cut …" He trailed off, perhaps mentally trying to readjust his budget. "… but it just seems with my ability …" 

Agent Washington continued to smile, but there was now something frozen and slightly unpleasant about it. "With your ability, there's hardly any point wasting your time with training, is there?" 

"Well, I'm not sure, um, exactly how my ability works yet." He swallowed and began to stammer under Washington's unwavering gaze. "Sir. That is, it would probably be dangerous to not have full training in emergency techniques as, as a back-up at least. Ideally, maybe someday I could set up a trauma center for underserved comm—" 

"Ah. So glad everyone finally deigned to join us," Washington said as a half dozen agents, including Tom Baldwin, walked in. 

Tom checked his watch. "Nine a.m. meeting. My watch says 8:59. Technically that makes us all early." 

Diana blinked and checked the time herself. She'd been sure she was running late, but Tom was right. Lack of sleep worrying about Maia had really played a number on her time sense. 

"All right, everyone," Meghan said, "take your seats. I'm going to let Agent Washington introduce himself and explain why he's here." 

"As you all know, we are offering amnesty to all promicin-positives who register their abilities with us." 

Diana couldn't help notice that he'd skipped right over the introduction. "Amnesty implies they've done something wrong," she said. "Thousands of people were infected during the outbreak through no fault of their own." 

"And hundreds, possibly thousands, more deliberately injected promicin in direct violation of the law. We have no way of distinguishing between the two groups. Hence the government's generous offer of a full amnesty. However, that amnesty is coming to an end. If the amnesty is left open-ended, new promicin-injectors get away with breaking the law free and clear long after Daniel Ferrell's death ended the contagion. A deadline has been set for the end of the year. We're ramping up a publicity campaign to coincide with the deadline. Any P-positive who has not registered an ability by that time will be assumed to be an illegal drug user and will be treated accordingly." 

Diana wondered what her sister thought about Washington's view of illegal promicin use. April's promicin status pre-dated the outbreak. The only reason April wasn't in jail was that her ability was useful and she'd agreed to utilize it on the government's behalf. Agent Washington had to know her history. 

"Obviously," Meghan said, "we can expect a large influx of people registering their abilities. Everyone should plan to put in extra hours for the next several weeks." 

There was a general groan throughout the room. "There's also bound to be a lot of people who distrust the government and don't come forward." Diana recognized Marco's voice though he was standing against the wall at the back with the other theorists. Agent Washington glowered and Diana thought to herself that _this_ was one of the reasons why the guys were rarely let out of the theory room. 

"Which will also likely mean long hours for the foreseeable future even after the amnesty ends," Washington said. "Tracking down P-positives with unregistered abilities will be one of the key priorities of NTAC." 

"But they've got plenty of time to register first, right?" Jed protested. "The amnesty's still in effect for—" 

"Two months," Washington interrupted. "And we'll have a lot of people to process in that time so, to keep things efficient, we'll be starting with NTAC itself." 

"I've already submitted my report—" Meghan began. 

"Your incomplete report," Agent Washington replied. "Many agents had no abilities listed, many more had only vague descriptions. And you, Baldwin." 

Tom stopped twirling the pen he'd been absently fiddling with. "Me?" 

"You haven't even acknowledged your promicin status." 

"Tom wasn't in NTAC headquarters during the outbreak," Jed protested. 

"Which could make a person be forgiven for speculating that Agent Baldwin illegally injected himself with promicin. Of course, I understand his own sister died in the outbreak so there were perhaps other means of contagion." Washington looked Tom straight in the eye as he spoke about him in the third person. "Skouris, if you would?" 

Diana startled before she realized he was talking to April who stood up and walked around the room to stand at Agent Washington's side. 

"Hi, Tom." April flicked her eyes in the direction of Agent Washington, not even a gaze so much as an acknowledgment to the others that Washington was the reason she was here. She shrugged apologetically, "So, about that thing?" 

"I don't know what my ability is," Tom said hurriedly before April could ask him a more pointed question. "I honestly don't know. I just, I see people who aren't there." 

Diana was pretty sure she was giving Tom the stink eye. He reciprocated with a look that seemed not so much apologetic, but projecting _we will talk about it later_. 

" _Everyone_ at NTAC will be interviewed about their promicin-status and their ability. April Skouris will personally be assisting with _all_ of these interviews. Does anyone have a problem with that?" 

The room was silent and Agent Washington gave April a meaningful look. April took a deep breath and scanned the room with an equally meaningful gaze. "Do you have a problem with that?" 

There were nervous murmurs and from the back of the room, one of the new theory guys (not Jim, the tall one) said, "I got no problem at all. In fact, if you're doing the interviews, sign me up for the first one." Diana rolled her eyes. The new guys had already been verified as promicin-negative. 

"Agent Skouris will be our first interview," Washington said to Diana's surprise. 

"I don't _have_ an ability," she protested. 

"In your office," he said and walked out of the conference room with April at his heels. 

Diana sat there for half a second and then glared at Tom. "We _will_ be having a little talk later." She got up and walked out. She felt a childish need to catch up with them. Washington would no doubt say something snide if he had to wait for her for even a moment. Yet she refused to run down the halls of NTAC as if this man had the right to snap his fingers and call for her like a dog. With long purposeful strides, she managed to catch up to them just as they reached her office door. As Washington turned, she was secretly pleased to see his smug expression fade when he realized he had no reason to chastise her. 

"Please come in," she said as if inviting them into her office had been her idea. Sitting at her desk, she continued, "I suppose there's some kind of form? Is it on the local network?" Diana turned to her computer and started searching the database before getting a response. She was, quite frankly, pissed off beyond words, but Diana had often found that the best revenge was unflustered efficiency. People hated it when they couldn't get to you. 

"Obviously—" Washington began. 

"Here we go: AB-REG-2004." Diana opened the file and skimmed the header. "Ah, my mistake. That's for the original returnees. Here's the right file: AB-REG-2007. Do you want me to fill it out myself or would it be more official if you typed it?" She slid her keyboard across the desk and turned her monitor towards him. Behind him, out of his line of sight, April gave her a double thumbs up. 

Washington slid the keyboard back towards her as if it were a dead fish. "That's quite all right. I'll let you type it. It will give you a chance to familiarize yourself with the forms." 

Diana shrugged and began filling out the form in complete silence other than the clacking of keys. _This is what I've been reduced to? Data entry clerk? Really?_ She printed the completed form and while it was printing, emailed a copy to Director Meghan Doyle. When the printer made its last vrittittitt noise, she smiled and waved at it. "There you go." 

Washington glared at first Diana and then at April. April walked the two steps to the printer and handed him the piece of paper. Diana had never felt sorrier for her sister. She couldn't imagine having to work with this guy on a regular basis and it was mainly for April's sake that she held her tongue. 

"So, your ability is to not develop an ability?" he asked after skimming over the printout. 

"You must be well aware of the circumstances of my promicin status. I believe quite a few reports were written even before the outbreak as well as the post-outbreak reports. Dr. Kevin Burkhoff injected me with an early experimental form of promicin. It failed to result in an ability, but it seems to have essentially inoculated me against the outbreak." 

"Have you developed any ability at all? Even a mild or trivial one? If so, please describe it in detail." 

"Like I just told you—" 

"Skouris." Diana frowned briefly before she realized that, yet again, he wasn't talking to her. Having April around in a professional capacity was confusing on so many levels. 

April stepped forward and gave her a lopsided smile. Diana had seen that smile a lot. It was the _sorry I wrecked your car_ smile, the _my drunk boyfriend might have puked on your rug a tiny bit_ smile, the _before you freak out, hear my side of the story_ smile. It was essentially the _I know I'm doing the wrong thing, but please don't hate me_ smile. "Have you developed an ability?" 

"Not unless just barely making deadlines counts as a superpower. Honest. I don't even show up on the tests as P-positive. Whatever Burkhoff did to me with his experiments, I didn't develop an ability from it that I've noticed." 

Washington nodded, satisfied with April's ability to force truth-telling if not trusting of Diana herself. "And Agent Baldwin?" 

"This is the first I've heard of it, believe me." Diana realized she probably hadn't succeeded in keeping the bitter edge out of her voice. April smirked at her. April was going to have a lot of interesting interviews ahead of her. "I don't suppose I can sit in on that interview? I have a few questions myself." 

April laughed. Washington did not. "Baldwin never mentioned that he was promicin-positive? Do you have any indication what he meant when he said he could see people who aren't there?" 

"Never and I haven't a clue." 

"Agent Skouris, I couldn't help but notice that you seemed a little on edge when you arrived this morning." 

"On edge?" 

"Agent Skouris, I know when people are trying to hide things, so let's not play games. You need to tell me everything you know." 

"We could be here quite a while. Do you want it sorted by category or should I just start chronologically? I think my first memory might be the time April escaped from her playpen by flipping it over." Diana wasn't entirely sure when she had stopped pretending she didn't hate this guy, but they were already beyond being subtle about it. 

Washington didn't break eye contact. "Skouris." 

Diana held his gaze for a moment, but her eyes finally slid over to her sister. "Did you know Tom is promicin-positive?" April asked. 

"No, I did not." She continued to look at April as she answered. It was impossible not to. April had asked. April must be answered. She struggled to remind herself that Washington was the one behind the question and quickly redirected her gaze to him. 

"Ask her what she knows," Washington said. 

"You know, I _have_ warned you before about open-ended questions," April said with an eye roll. "There's a guy in the Netherlands who's still trying to explain organic chemistry to me because _you_ wanted to know 'everything he knows' about promicin. I had to change my phone number. He wouldn't stop calling." 

"The details of the interrogation are your problem, not mine. Phrase it as carefully as you need to, but find out what she's hiding." 

April waggled her head from side to side absentmindedly as she composed her words in her head. "Okay. Got it. When you walked into the conference room and Agent Washington thought you looked on edge, what were you hiding?" 

"Okay, so I said I was running late because of traffic, but I was running late—or I just thought I was running late, but I guess I made up a lot of time rushing—because I overslept because I was tossing and turning all night wondering how to talk to Maia about sex because her teacher told me at the parent-teacher conference last night that Maia was seen stealing handfuls of condoms from the student health center, which she didn't need to do because they hand out condoms for free, a few at a time anyway, but Maia apparently made off with a couple dozen and I understand the health center being frustrated since condoms aren't cheap, but I'm mainly concerned about my daughter thinking she's going to be using two dozen condoms. I mean, one or two condoms I could understand as a just-in-case kind of thing or maybe she's curious and just wanted to see what one looked like. Remember the time you put that condom on your head just to see if it would fit?" 

April giggled and nodded. "Warned you," she told Washington. 

"Yes, that's quite enough." 

But Diana wasn't done. "Or, God, what if she's actually got a boyfriend and is really thinking of taking that next step. I don't want her to think she's in trouble for planning ahead and practicing safe sex—because, hey, points for responsibility—but she's really too young to be having sex at all. And then I feel like such a hypocrite because I'm practicing these lectures in my head where I tell Maia how important it is to 'save herself' for a serious relationship—" Diana made air quotes around one of their grandmother's favorite phrases and April rolled her eyes along with her, but she could barely pause for breath as she continued, "—when I screwed a stupid lawyer the other night and I have an appointment to have sex with Marco tonight, which I'm also a little nervous about because there's that awkward coworker dynamic. Not that Meghan could say anything because everyone knows she was sleeping with Tom, but—" 

"Wait, isn't Marco the guy you dumped for Ben?" April's eyes flashed with hurt, then just as quickly narrowed angrily. "You steal my boyfriend and then you cheat on him with Marco?" 

She was dimly aware of Washington in the periphery of her vision as he walked out of the room, but she couldn't seem to pull her attention away from April to even acknowledge him as he went. "I did not dump Marco for Ben. Marco and I broke up amicably because I didn't think the relationship was going anywhere. I'm also not cheating on Ben. If you'd bothered to stay in touch, you'd know Ben and I haven't been together for a few months. He's still flitting about Europe and I need to be here. He's a great guy, but our lives just don't fit together. So if you're interested in moving to Europe, I think he might still be available." 

"As if," April said, dismissing the idea with a hand wave. "But why go back to Marco if that relationship wasn't working out?" 

"It's not a relationship. It's just sex. It's kind of a long story. Short version, he has a cute butt." Diana glanced over to the empty seat where Washington had been sitting. "So, if I want to get rid of him, I just need to talk about sex?" 

"Or your period. I always carry tampons regardless of the time of the month. You'd be amazed how many times they come in useful. I mean, once a month for their intended purpose, obvs, but _so_ handy as a sexist asshat repellent." 

Diana laughed, but, not knowing how long he'd be gone, she didn't want to waste time by asking April for examples. "So, this whole thing where you use your own ability to grill P-positives as if they're criminals, I think I might have a problem with it. Yet, I can't help but notice that I didn't mention that I had a problem with it when you asked earlier. How does that work? You can turn the mojo off and on?" 

April shook her head. "No. I can amp it up a bit if I focus, I think. Or maybe I just intimidate people when I stare at them too hard. Some people volunteer a lot more than others and for some it's like pulling teeth, re-wording questions over and over until I ask just the right thing to get them to admit to something useful. But I haven't learned to shut it off entirely." 

"Then how?" 

"Here's the thing about Washington. He's obsessed with people's abilities and how he can use them. He wants everything cataloged in detail. But, on the other hand, _all_ he cares about is how he can use a person's abilities and he immediately ignores any details that don't matter to him. He's already decided that Meghan Doyle is useless, which frankly she should be grateful for. I've told him repeatedly that asking open-ended questions is about as unhelpful as not asking anything at all and he just dismisses it as my problem." 

"Have you ever asked him why he—?" 

"Nothing," April interrupted. "I ask him _nothing_. Those were the rules. I was caught before the outbreak, so I'm not included in the current amnesty. If I don't want to end up in prison, I follow the rules." 

Diana could not imagine April being given a task more difficult than _follow the rules_ even if the rules were as straightforward as _Do not poke the sleeping bear._

"He should also know," April continued, shaking off the interruption, "if he took the time to read my file, that I can't use my ability on a room full of people simultaneously. It would be awfully handy if I could make a big public appearance and ask a million people at once, 'Hey, anyone here ever commit a felony?' but that's not how it works. I need mutual eye contact. I have to pick _one_ person. So I picked the squidgy guy in the back. He looked harmless and even if he'd argued, a geek's more likely to get a pass than an agent, I figured." 

"True that." 

"I better get going," April said, glancing over her shoulder. "Lot of people to interview today and Washington'll be pissed if I hold things up. But we have to do dinner this week. Tomorrow? You'll tell me all about sex with Marco." 

"I will not. April, promise me. You will _not_ ask about my personal life." 

"Fine. Scouts honor," April said, raising her fingers in what didn't look like an actual scout sign. "I, April Skouris, do solemnly swear to not use my ability to ask any questions about Marco's penis." 

"I'm just not coming by this office ever again," Jed said from the doorway. "But if you see Tom, Washington is looking for him." 

♥…—…—…—…♥


	3. Diana and Marco Have Lousy Sex

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

"I don't care." Marco tossed his keys onto a pile of unopened junk mail. "The guy's a jerk." 

"I'm not arguing with you." Diana glanced around the apartment looking for a place to sit. Marco wasn't messy exactly, but numerous pieces of furniture were doubling as bookcases since the bookcases all seemed to be full already. That included the sofa, the kitchen chairs, and half the table. "All I said was that it's reasonable to test agents' abilities in a training scenario rather than having something unexpected pop up in the field." 

" _I_ am not an agent." Marco followed her gaze and began moving books around. "Sorry. I would have cleaned last night if I'd realized they were going to keep us so late today." 

"Don't worry about it. It's not like I came here to sit down." Diana couldn't help but smile when Marco triggered a literary avalanche in his living room. So cute. "Bathroom is this way?" 

She didn't wait for an answer since the bathroom obviously couldn't be in any other direction. She frowned into the mirror and ran a fingernail over her teeth. _I really ought to keep a personal overnight bag in the car just in case._ It was a good idea. Given the unpredictability of her job, Diana kept a go-bag in the trunk that would make a survivalist proud. Yet breaking into it for personal use seemed inappropriate. The emergency pack was for _emergencies_. She needed to keep a separate stash of personal supplies that she wouldn't feel guilty about using for frivolous occasions. It was a perfectly reasonable idea and yet she could hear her grandmother's voice in the back of her head. _A handbag should only be just big enough for your checkbook and lipstick. Any bigger and people will think you're the kind of woman who needs to carry around a suitcase._

Her grandmother had been a lunatic. Truly. She knew her grandmother was a lunatic when she was thirteen. So why was she still allowing lessons about not letting anyone even _think_ she might have a toothbrush or an extra pair of panties in her purse influence her behavior today? If her grandmother knew she was about to have sex with the second man in one week, she'd spin in her grave. 

Diana chuckled silently at her own reflection. _Serve the old bat right._

She leaned back into the hallway. "I don't suppose you have an extra toothbrush?" _What in the world possessed me to order a burger with onions today of all days?_ If she trusted Marco's ability, she'd ask him to teleport to the drug store, but she kept having this horrible image of him teleporting into a wall or something. 

He shook his head and then ran both hands through his hair. She wasn't sure whether it was just nervous energy over their impending first time together or if it was mainly still anger at a really rough day at work, but either way, the tension level was a little higher than she was comfortable with. 

"Look, refuse if you want," she told him, "but if _I_ were you, I'd want to do the tests. I can't believe you don't. Don't you want to know? How far can you go? What can you carry? Are there any other limitations or possibilities you haven't even thought of yet? Are there precautions you need to take to be sure it's safe?" 

"Of course I want to know. And I'm doing the tests, obviously. I just—" Marco sighed and waved his arms in frustration. "I just don't like Washington telling me that I _have_ to." 

"Washington the city or Washington the agent?" she asked as she turned back to the mirror. 

"That's it. _That's_ the creepy part." Marco followed her to stand in the bathroom doorway as he continued, "I don't even know. Did you see how jumpy Meghan was today? I get the feeling there are some pretty powerful people behind this little visit and—Diana!" 

"What?" Diana knew perfectly well what Marco was objecting to, but it was funny regardless. She smirked at him as she screwed the cap back on the toothpaste. "I have onion breath. I don't even need your feedback on that one. Onion breath, not a turn on." 

"Diana, that's my toothbrush." Marco clearly failed to see the obvious point here. 

"Marco, we're about to have sex. Even with a condom, there will be some incidental germ-swapping. Are you really worried about your toothbrush?" 

"Yes! That's gross!" 

Diana looked at the toothbrush and then back at Marco. "So, you don't want me to put anything in my mouth tonight that might be considered _gross_?" Marco's brain seemed to short circuit at that point and Diana brushed her teeth in peace. She took longer than was strictly necessary both because she _really_ wanted to make sure she'd done all she could to combat the onions and because Marco guppy-breathing at her reflection was the cutest damn thing possibly ever. She was pretty sure that it was not possible to brush one's teeth provocatively and she was silly for even trying, but Marco seemed to be going for it anyway. 

Rinse. Spit. She turned away from the mirror. "Ready?" 

Marco half-choked out something that might or might not have been, "More than," and nodded. The nod, at least, was unambiguous. 

Marco was standing frozen in the bathroom doorway so Diana stepped forward and kissed him. She tried not to imagine that this must be what it would be like to kiss a brother. It was strangely difficult to think of Marco as a _man_ because Marco was just _Marco_. Even when they'd dated, the dynamic had never been passionate, it had been a love affair between intellects rather than bodies, which _sounded_ rather sweet and romantic, but… They were supposed to be doing the sex thing now and Marco wasn't helping at all. 

Diana had always thought of foreplay as a natural extension of flirting when the moment shifted into something more serious and clothing became optional. With an established lover, there was often still an element of rote seduction. To her slight chagrin, Diana—modern, empowered woman—often reverted to the traditional role of seducee. Marco was literally gripping the door frame, knuckles turning white, breath deliberate but shaky, and his right eyelid fluttered, which was the most lyrical description Diana could come up with for _spasmed uncontrollably_. 

Seducee was clearly not Diana's role tonight. 

She couldn't stop herself from smirking. "You really want to do this standing up?" 

God bless him. He actually squeaked. Diana fought back a laugh. "Bedroom, Marco." When he didn't move, she added, "Now." 

Marco startled and staggered backward and more or less fell horizontally in a continued stagger all the way down the hall into the bedroom. He landed awkwardly on the bed, technically on the books on top of the bed which looked painful as well. He frantically shoved books out of the way without ever taking his eyes off Diana and she remembered why this had seemed like a good idea to begin with. 

She'd been ogled by her share of horny guys and it wasn't usually that much of a turn-on, but Marco looked at her with such longing that it was beyond flattering. She felt a full-body flush that said her clothes needed to go away now. Marco's eyes had the ability to beg and praise and adore. Yes, that was the word, adoration. "You're kind of adorable yourself, you know," she said. 

"Wha—?" Marco scrambled farther back on the bed. At first, she thought he was retreating and then she realized he was trying to make room for her. Diana had planned to go home and change after work, nothing particularly risque, just perhaps a bit more _feminine mystique_. Taking off your clothes in front of a new guy for the first time was not supposed to involve the comfy bra with the grease stain or the plaid cotton panties that had been on sale three-for-five-dollars. She kicked off her shoes, unbuttoned her possibly-mom-ish work shirt, and quickly ditched her old bra. Marco squeaked again, which seemed like a good sign. He didn't seem to need a long strip tease so she slipped off her trousers and panties in one movement, hoping there would be no commentary on her non-sexy underwear choices. 

"Oh, fuck!" Marco, still fully clothed, clutched at the bedspread. He chewed his lower lip and bit off another drawn out, "Ffffffffffffuck!" Diana crawled up over him, a slinky crawl completely wasted on the man with his eyes rolled back in his head. Before she could do anything else, Marco whimpered and his whole body went slack. 

"Marco, you didn't?!" 

He whimpered again, covered his face with both hands, and began muttering, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." 

"Marco?! Seriously?!" Diana sat back on her haunches, straddling his thighs. 

There was no tell-tale dampness at his crotch yet. The way the thick cloth of his trousers was bunched at the zipper disguised whatever shape might be beneath. But Marco's non-stop mantra of " _sorrysorrysorrysorry_ " left little doubt that Marco was down for the count. 

Diana laughed without humor. It reminded her of the time she almost lost her virginity with Tony Michaelson in high school and then broke up with him when they later argued about whether they had "done it" or not. He called it sex. She called it masturbating with a witness. 

She glanced over at where she'd tossed her clothing and it felt a million miles away. At least with Tony in the back of the car, her pants had still been half on and her sweater was in easy reach. She sighed, rolled off the edge of the bed, and stood up. Before she could step away, Marco pulled at her arm and tugged her back, gently but fervently. "Sorrysorrysorry" became "nononono, I'm sorry, don't go, don't go, pleasepleaseplease." 

She glanced back over her shoulder at him skeptically. The twerp still had his shoes on. "Is there really a reason to stay?" she asked. "I mean, I _could_ give you a critique, but…" She left the sentence unfinished. Unlike Tony _That-Was-Totally-A-Home-Run_ Michaelson, Marco looked absolutely mortified. 

"But that would be completely unnecessary," Marco agreed. "I swear that… that doesn't happen often. I just, I just, I've been thinking about this _all day_ and I, um, I was a little, um, _overripe_ when we started?" His words trailed into a question at the end, but Diana wasn't sure what he was asking her other than for reassurance. 

She turned around to face him. There was really no point acting coy now. "I thought _spontaneity_ was supposed to be hot. We scheduled this like a dentist appointment. _I'd_ been worried we'd have trouble getting geared up." 

Marco laughed. It was quiet yet a touch maniacal. "That was never going to be a problem on my end. Please. Please stay. If you leave now, this will officially be the most humiliating sexual encounter of my life. Please stay." He knelt on the edge of the bed so they were at the same height. He slipped his hands around her waist, softly trailing one hand up her back and he drew her closer. His eyes drifted down to her bare nipples, but his hands maintained a gentlemanly, almost prudish, distance from anywhere even slightly erogenous. 

"I can do other things, things you might enjoy?" The words were phrased as a statement, but his voice trembled slightly turning it into a question on the last syllable. Was he wondering if she'd enjoy what he had in mind or was he asking for permission? "Things that I could probably benefit from being critiqued on?" he added. "Y'know, science, greater good, et cetera?" 

She laughed, genuinely this time, and squeezed him in a proper hug for a brief moment and then slid back into the bed. 

"Do you mind if I change into clean underwear?" Marco asked. 

"Oh, for the love of…. Underwear _off_ , Marco. I am not going to be the only one who is naked tonight." 

"Right, right." Marco toed off his shoes and removed his shirt without hesitation, but froze with his hands on his zipper. "Um, maybe I should?" He nodded at the doorway. 

She was stark naked in his bed, but he needed to leave the room to take his pants off? Her face must have registered her annoyance as Marco quickly added, "To clean up." 

Diana rolled her eyes. "Clean up _after_ not during. Consider that part of the critique." 

"Right." Marco closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. He unzipped and removed his slacks and, to Diana's annoyance, folded them neatly and placed them on a chair. With a shy smile at Diana, he finally slipped off his underpants, taking a moment to use them as a rag to wipe himself. 

Marco was surprisingly well-built for a man with no athletic interests. He was not muscular, but neither was he scrawny, and Diana honestly preferred an average build over a gym junkie. As for his penis, "You've got nothing to be ashamed of there," she said as Marco blushed. It was probably the most ideal circumstance to view a naked man. Post-climax, still a bit swollen, but no longer erect. Most men falsely assumed that they were at their most impressive when fully aroused, never realizing how comically grotesque they often truly appeared. Or maybe that was just a side effect of seeing _Alien_ before she'd seen her first naked man. Ridley Scott probably had no idea how many young women he had confused. 

"So, what did you have in mind?" Diana asked, her question mainly meant to prompt Marco to make _any_ kind of move. 

He joined Diana on the bed. He kissed her lightly on the lips and immediately pulled back to judge her reaction. "So far so good," she said, coaxing him to further action. He kissed her again, this time licking at her mouth. She parted her lips to encourage him, but instead, he slid down her body. In the next instant, he'd glommed on to her left nipple. She wanted to give him points for enthusiasm, but the points lost in technique canceled that right out. It was kind of like having a wet fish attached to her chest. 

Diana realized they'd made an oversight in their agreement. They hadn't discussed the sequence of their critiques. Should she save it for a post-coital debriefing or explain to Marco in the moment that many women, or at least she herself, often preferred a more nuanced approach? Marco was now latched on and suckling like an infant, which was… okay, not that bad actually, a little weird, but not bad. Diana felt that she shouldn't feel maternal and aroused and slightly grossed out all at the same time. 

She'd never really understood the fixation men had with breasts. They were just breasts. Sensitive, yes, but in a way that made a lot of excessive groping unpleasant rather than erotic. Even as she thought it, Marco's enthusiasm began to cross that line into uncomfortable. "Um, Marco?" 

He immediately disengaged, but without waiting for further instructions he slid lower. No intermediate trail of kisses like in the romance novels. He was just suddenly between her legs. Points for willingness. Diana had dated a few guys who _never_ performed cunnilingus. 

Odd word, cunnilingus. Grammatically incorrect as well. Latin for _he who licks the vulva_ not the act of doing so. The more literal translation was cunt licker. Was that an insult in ancient Latin? Like cock sucker, but for lady bits? 

"Diana?" Marco rested his head on Diana's thigh in an attitude of defeat. "I'm complete crap at this, aren't I?" 

"I'm sorry. I'm distracted today." 

"No, no. It's okay. Don't try to make excuses to make me feel better. Defeats the purpose, right?" 

Marco got out of bed and rubbed his hands through his hair. He walked to his closet and tossed Diana his robe before putting on his own pajamas. 

Diana wrapped herself in the robe and sat at the end of the bed where Marco joined her. 

"Okay, so…" Marco blew out his breath in a big sigh. "Aside from the obvious failure, what else did I do wrong?" 

And now the debriefing. So much more awkward than she had expected. She really hadn't expected things to go quite that badly. 

"Well, we _both_ probably could have gone a little slower at the start." 

Marco laughed just once. It was a painful sound. Diana put her arm around him and leaned into his shoulder. "Are you ready to hear more?" 

"Go for it," Marco said firmly. "Don't go easy on me or this was all a waste." 

"Sometimes, a gentler touch is more arousing than a vigorous one." 

"Duly noted," he said with a nod. 

"And I really was quite distracted today. Sometimes even the most compatible lovers have bad days. Between work and this thing with Maia…" She reached up and ruffled his hair and got a hand coated with gel for her effort. "I promise that next time I'll be more focused. Instead of rushing straight into the bedroom, we sit down and relax first. Talk, share a cup of tea or something?" 

" _Next_ time? You're actually willing to do this again?" 

"We can only get better with practice, right? " 

"We can't get much worse," Marco agreed. 

"Do me a favor and wash out the hair gel first next time." Diana laughed and got up off the bed and found a tissue to wipe off her hand. "Next Thursday? But earlier to give us more time so we don't rush. Right after work? We can grab a pizza or something on the way." 

"Yeah, sure. Great." Marco looked confused. 

Diana scooped up her clothes and purse. She could get dressed in the bathroom with a little dignity. In her rush, her jacket slipped out of her grasp. When she picked it back up, a pile of condoms fell out of the inside pocket. "What the—?" 

There was a small rectangle of paper among them, notebook paper folded in on itself. Diana picked it up and read the word "Marco" across the front. "What the _hell_?" she repeated. 

Marco took it from her and unfolded it to read the note inside. "Dear Marco, Hello. Hope you are well. I'm happy that you and Mom are working things out, but please remember that I am not a free babysitter. Love, Maia." 

_Oh, God._ "Great. As if this day wasn't already bad enough, I now get to go home and have the most uncomfortable talk with my daughter ever—possibly _the_ most uncomfortable talk in the entire history of parenting." 

♥…—…—…—…♥


	4. Diana Is Not Happy

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Diana made it home just a few minutes before Maia did. She paced the kitchen, opening the refrigerator three separate times (because she'd missed dinner and was hungry) and walking away each time (because she was too nervous to eat). The sound of Maia walking in the door was both a relief and an icicle to the gut. 

"How was French club?" she asked, sitting down on the couch with what felt like an absolute failure of a casual smile on her face. 

"Bon." 

"Bon," Diana echoed weakly, struggling for a way to start the conversation. 

Maia walked over and sat down on the sofa next to her and without another word from Diana, she said, "It's okay, Mom. I don't have a boyfriend. I mean, Tommy in French club is kind of cute, but not like that." 

Diana fought the urge to bury her face in her hands, instead primly weaving her fingers together in what her parents had called 'store-hands' pose and forcing them to her knees, as she asked, "And Marco?" 

"I don't think I'm ready to be a big sister right now. Do you?" 

"I’ve mentioned before how _I’m_ supposed to be the grown up in our relationship?" 

Maia smiled at her. 

"Maia …" Diana bit her lip. This was really the awful part. “In your visions, you haven’t actually _seen_ …" 

"Ick. No. I've told you before that a lot of the time, I don’t even see anything; I just kind of _know_ what’s happened. The visions all sort of overlap now so it’s like … imagine a big library and you have access to millions and millions of books, but you can only _see_ the page that you’ve turned to." 

“And the 'page' that _you_ turned to?” 

“Diapers. So many diapers.” 

“We’ve established that your visions are not set in stone,” Diana said evenly, as much for her own benefit as for Maia. “Marco and I will be very careful. Not that we weren't already going to be careful,” Diana added, feeling she needed to emphasize responsible behavior for her daughter, "but now we'll be extra, extra careful." 

God, at some point she was going to have to get past stumbling over euphemisms and say the words "condom" and "safer sex" in front of her daughter, the same daughter who had just essentially lectured _her and Marco_ about birth control. "And if you happen to glance at a 'page' that has things on it that a girl your age shouldn't be 'reading'?" 

"I can turn to a different page," Maia agreed. 

"Just 'can' or 'can and will'?" 

"Oh, trust me, the entire Mom-having-sex book is permanently off my reading list. I'm boarding up that entire wing of the library." 

"Can you really do that?" 

Maia shrugged one shoulder and bobbed her head. It was half a nod and half a pensive head-waggle. "I'm starting to feel like my ability is something I can, maybe not control exactly, but _work with_. It's, it's getting better." 

"That's great!" It truly was. The idea of her daughter being subjected to things even an adult might have trouble handling was a constant source of anxiety. If Maia's control of her ability was still improving even after all this time, there was a chance that one day she would have it fully mastered. 

She gave her a hug and decided that now was the time to push through to the final topic. "And, Maia, just so you know. I will always love you no matter what and if you ever have any questions at all about sex, you know that you can always talk to—" 

"Aunt April." 

"Absolutely." Damn, the kid was too smart for her own good. Of course, now Diana had to make sure that she and April had a little chat first. There were a few stories that April should be reminded _not_ to share. 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Diana found herself suffering from a dash of Mom guilt as she snagged a bagel from the break room. She should have made Maia breakfast this morning instead of letting her run out the door with a slice of cold pizza. At some point this week they were going to sit down and have a proper breakfast together. She mentally added _something healthy_ to her shopping list even though she didn't have the brainpower to decide what just yet. 

"Ready for the firing squad?" Tom asked, reaching around her for a bagel of his own. "We're first up against the wall this morning." 

Diana glared at him, but he didn't seem to notice. 

"We? I was grilled yesterday and seeing as _I_ don't have an ability, it was brief." 

"Yeah, well, Agent Washington has requested us both this morning." Tom looked a little sheepish, but not quite enough so Diana didn't stop glaring. "I'm sorry." It sounded an awful lot like _I'm sorry you're mad at me_ instead of an actual apology. 

Diana bit into her bagel without breaking eye contact. 

"I'm really sorry. I should have told you. I just, I don't—my ability is actually pretty pointless really. I'd happily trade with Meghan if I could. Yesterday, she turned the trash can in the break room into a vine of climbing roses." 

Diana had heard about that. Unfortunately, Meghan had turned the trash can _itself_ into roses, which was slightly less useful when it left behind a pile of coffee grounds and soiled paper plates. Her ability was still glitching, particularly when she got nervous. If any of the higher-ups had taken her ability seriously, she would likely still be on the forced-leave roster. Meghan was professional enough that her nerves never _showed_ but when NTAC was liberally dotted with day-lilies, it was a pretty fair sign that their leader was under stress. 

Diana leaned in and whispered, "And the means by which you acquired your ability? Hm?" Theoretically, there was no reason to whisper. The amnesty was billed as register-and-no-questions-asked. In practice… "Tom, you're a damned NTAC agent. You are not supposed to be risking your life for a fifty-fifty chance at an ability like some kid who has read too many comic books." 

"I wasn't… Look, okay, I…" Tom glanced around and lowered his voice as well. "I did it. But I think I had better odds than that. Kyle said—" 

Diana couldn't stop herself from blurting, "Ha!" She held up her hand in apology. "Sorry, sorry. Kyle… you know I love Kyle. He's a sweet kid, but he is not a person I would take life-or-death advice from." 

"Kyle's ability… " 

"Stop. Don't. If we're about to get grilled by Washington, that means we're about to get grilled by Washington _and April_ and I, at least, would like to get through that meeting without incriminating myself." 

"Right." 

"So, where are we meeting him?" 

Tom sighed. "Our old office." 

"Our _old_ office?" 

"I take it you haven't seen it yet? Come on." 

"Oh, I am not going to like this, am I?" 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

"Oh, you're kidding me!" As soon as Tom told her they'd been temporarily evicted from their office, she expected they'd be in the bullpen, if not stuck in some storage closet somewhere, but she'd at least expected a desk. "That's not even a cubicle! That's a … cubiclette!" Words failed her as she spluttered at her new workstation. A large cardboard box labeled _Skouris_ was on the chair and two more similarly labeled boxes were shoved beneath the not-even-a-proper-desk so that the chair couldn't even be pushed in. 

"We called them 'cubbies' when I was in school," Tom suggested as he re-stacked the _Baldwin_ boxes next to his own carrel. 

School was right. That was where she'd seen these things, school libraries. Those study nooks where a person only needed to sit down to read a single book. If you were trying to juggle multiple books while taking notes, the carrels were too small. Diana had always studied in the university cafeteria when she needed to spread out and resented those times when she needed reference books that couldn't be checked out of the library. 

These particular cubbies were dominated by a telephone, keyboard, and computer monitor. The actual computer was probably underneath the desk, behind her boxes. "They can't possibly expect us to work like this?" 

Tom raised his hands in surrender. "Just the messenger." Tom drained the last of his coffee and left his mug on his stack of boxes and walked off without so much as a, _You coming?_ She followed still quietly seething. 

Their office looked like a different room when they entered. All of their personal belongings were gone and even the generic office decor had been replaced. Agent Washington had taken over Diana's desk, but he'd had it moved so that he now sat centered below a large aerial photograph of the Mall in D.C., Washington Monument in the foreground, Lincoln Memorial like a dollhouse in the distance. _Oh, that man likes his name, doesn't he?_

April was sitting behind Tom's old desk, because _of course_ a tattoo-artist-turned-human-lie-detector needed a desk more than Tom or Diana did. The walls behind April were decorated with similarly patriotic images. None went so far as being _actual_ propaganda posters, but they still felt like it. All the potted plants had been removed and the only splash of color that wasn't red or blue in the room was a small purple orchid that was spilling out of April's pen caddy. Both desks now faced the seats intended for visitors. There would have been various other ways the desks could have been arranged and still placed visitors in the spotlight, but Washington's desk was the clear focus of the office, with April's desk squeezed awkwardly close to the wall. 

Diana looked at April and then very deliberately flicked her eyes back at the photo of the giant granite obelisk. She raised an eyebrow and April fought back a giggle. Neither of the sisters had to be psychic for the unspoken _Compensating much?_ to be understood. 

"You have a busy day ahead of you, agents, so let's get right to it." He gestured at two chairs in front of his desk. He smiled friendly enough, but when he added "Sit" there was no _please_ attached to it. 

"I like what you've done with the place," Tom said casually. "It seems bigger now somehow." 

Diana smiled, which she hoped would disguise the fact that she was clenching her teeth. The room looked bigger because they had taken out all the cabinets, bulletin boards, and assorted stacks of files that it would take them ages to reorganize when they finally got the office back. 

"I expect you to file your ability registration form before the end of the day," Washington said as if Tom hadn't spoken at all. "Agent Skouris can show you where to find it." 

Tom nodded. "Will do." 

If she didn't know better, she'd swear Tom's new superpower was the ability to avoid meaningful conversations, but, of course, he'd always been like that. 

"You will give me a brief overview now." Washington looked at April as he said that and Diana's stomach twisted. April's ability was really disturbing enough without ominous government overlords behind it. 

April crossed her arms in an obvious don't-mess-with-me pose. "Tom, you said yesterday that you see people who aren't there. Do you see ghosts? Can you communicate with people in another room? Your ability comes with unlimited video chat? What?" 

"No, no, and no. _Seeing_ isn't even the right word," Tom said, unknowingly echoing Maia's explanation of her own ability. "There's just no good word for _sensing_ something that's not sight or sound or touch or smell." 

"Taste," Diana said, and when Tom scowled at her, she added, "What? You left out one." 

April leaned in and asked, "Tom Baldwin, do you taste dead people?" 

"No. And before you ask, I do not see or smell or in any way sense dead people. There are no dead people involved." 

"Let's keep this serious, shall we?" Washington said. 

Diana couldn't decide if Washington was older or younger than she was. He had an arrogance that spoke of power and connections or possibly just cocky stupidity. His body language suggested maturity, his skin suggested youth or at very least a life lived sheltered from the sun. 

"The people I see aren't even people yet," Tom said when April seemed on the verge of asking her next question. 

"Yet? You're seeing people from the future?" 

It had been a question. Tom had to answer. The fact that he even hesitated caused a flash of anger to cross Washington's face that Diana found just a little bit terrifying. It was gone in the next instant as Tom finally began to speak, but Diana had been looking right at him when it happened. 

"Not _from_ the future," Tom said, struggling with the words, "not in the way you mean. These aren't the people who took the original 4400. I'm not seeing people who exist with any certainty in any future. Instead of future people, let's call them _potential people_." 

Washington sighed and ran his hand through his neatly-trimmed hair in one of the first human gestures Diana had seen from him so far. She imagined that, like Diana, he had deduced Tom's hesitation had not been belligerence but rather the simple fact that Tom's communication skills sucked. 

"Do you see any of these _potential_ people now? Do you only see them under special circumstances?" he asked. 

He motioned to April to repeat the questions, but before she spoke, Tom answered, "All the time. They're pretty much everywhere." 

"Can you describe them?" 

"It's tricky. They're sort of… as long as we're using visual metaphors, they're blurry." 

"How many are there right now?" 

"Depending on how you count them… millions… or three." 

"Millions or three?" Diana asked. She knew she should keep her mouth shut. Tom didn't need anyone else ganging up on him, but… honestly? "That's a pretty broad estimate. You can't narrow it down to, I don't know, somewhere between half a million and two thousand." 

"We're actually debating semantics more than numbers," Tom said, which helped clarify things _not at all_. 

Washington looked pointedly at April as if it were her fault the interview was going poorly. 

"By what definition are there _three_ potential people? And by what definition are there _millions_ of potential people?" 

"I can currently sense three figures, but two of them are switching out with others." Tom shifted in his chair and gestured vaguely. 

It wasn't that Diana actually had better things to do. The schedule was full of door-to-door visits on suspected P-positives who hadn't come forward on their own. Any or all of such interviews could be just as difficult as the one she was stuck in now, but perhaps that's exactly what made her blurt out, "Oh, for the love of God, Tom, out with it." 

"I think they're sperm." 

No one laughed for a moment. The words had to sink in before the Skouris sisters regressed to junior high and started snickering. 

"Yours, for instance—" Tom began, trying to explain further. 

"My sperm?" Washington repeated. He did not so much as smirk, which only made April and Diana snicker even more. 

"Brown hair most of them, but a few blonds. All white. Fairly nondescript. Several of the men look almost exactly like you. Almost all are healthy, but a few …" He stopped himself and glanced at April. "I'd say less than a one percent chance of birth defects. Nothing to worry about." 

Diana and April both straightened up as the conversation took a serious turn and Tom shifted his attention to April. 

"April's is different. I mean obviously. I guess we're talking ovum here. There's just one figure. Stable, just a single possible person. It looks a bit like Diana around the eyes actually, but there's more red in the hair. The gender is completely indeterminate, but if it ends up male, the beard would grow in red as well. Obviously, a lot of details can change though since I'm really only looking at half of a person. I know this sounds weird, but, April, would you mind?" 

He stood up and reached across her desk as if asking for a handshake. April hesitated, but took his hand. 

"Very high probability of a redhead, average intelligence, no apparent health problems, possible behavioral issues, but, hey, that's kids for you." 

He asked Washington. "You want to try?" 

"Try?" Washington repeated, looking confused. 

"Only half the DNA comes from the mother. Different father, different offspring." 

"You can actually see the potential offspring of two people?" Washington seemed intrigued. 

"We have to touch?" April asked, clearly uneasy about this. 

"Nothing intimate, just contact." 

Washington nodded but didn't move, forcing April to walk out from behind her desk. Rather than taking his hand, she reached over and touched the back of it. 

Tom frowned, "Brunette, tall, can't really see any resemblance to Diana anymore, the probability of complications seems higher. You two probably shouldn't have kids." 

"Thanks, Tom. Good to know," April said coolly and walked back to her desk. 

"I'll tell my wife Victoria she has nothing to be jealous about," Washington said with a sneer. 

Diana wondered if Mrs. Washington existed or was just part of his backstory. Her imagination conjured up a picture of a 1960s housewife clipping coupons in her pearls and Jackie Kennedy pillbox hat. She couldn't imagine him married to a flesh-and-blood human. 

"The third one is Diana's kid then?" April asked. 

"No, Diana isn't due to ovulate again for a few days. Although, it's hard to predict precisely since her cycle has been a little off with the stress since the outbreak." Tom stopped himself and glanced apologetically at her. "Sorry. I'm really not keeping track on purpose." 

"No, no, it's fine." Diana feared her voice betrayed that she was uncomfortable with the topic. Intellectually, it really was fine. Heck, it could even be useful. 

"The third figure is my own, uh, genetic potential. I sense this, again let's just call it a _blur_ of millions of possibilities. Men and women who look like myself or my family or combinations of them that don't even look familiar. If I happen to touch a woman when she's, um, well, fertile, then the possibilities shift." 

"Fertile?" Washington repeated deadpan. 

"Ovulating," Tom said. "I thought I made that part clear. I only see potential offspring for women when they're actually ovulating. If a man and woman touch during that time, I can see a more specific person based on both… parents." 

They were all silent for a moment. Diana was still wondering how accurately Tom could identify her fertility cycles and whether she could get him to give her a heads up on days to avoid. For her part, April did not appear to appreciate the information. She rolled her eyes and huffed slightly. To anyone else, it might not look like she was bothered, but Diana recognized the tight posture. April wasn't prone to embarrassment so she was more likely annoyed that Tom had nixed any _lady stuff_ excuses for a few days. And probably a little creeped out that Tom had seen the results of a theoretical mating with Washington. 

"As you can see," Tom continued, "not a skill that comes in terribly handy as part of my job. That's why I never mentioned it." 

"At least you didn't get one of the messy ones," Diana said. "We've seen a lot worse." 

"So, we're done then?" Tom asked. 

"You have your schedule for the day. Don't let me detain you." Washington's face was inscrutable. Diana couldn't tell if he had already dismissed Tom's ability as being as useful as turning plastic into pretty flowers or if he was quietly plotting the next master race. 

As she stood up, Diana turned to her sister, "When you've got a minute, I need to talk to you. After work is fine." 

"Agent Skouris," Washington said, a hint of something menacing in his voice. "I would appreciate it if my agents weren't having meetings with my assistant without my presence." 

It was pretty much the last straw as far as Diana was concerned. "I'm sorry," she said, sweetly. Diana Skouris did not, as a general rule, do sweet. If Washington knew her better, he would've recognized the honey dripping from her voice as the poison it was intended to be. "I guess we weren't formally introduced. You see it's actually not just an amusing coincidence that your assistant and I have the same last name. I need to talk to _my sister_ about a private family matter—after work," she added for April's benefit, "and you will most certainly not be present." 

"Okay," Tom chirped, "so, long day ahead of us. We better get a move on then." 

Diana didn't even bother with a parting farewell and walked out the door. 

♥…—…—…—…♥


	5. Diana Does Data Entry (Also, Frogs?)

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

_NTAC really has turned me into a data entry clerk_ , Diana thought to herself. Their first day of grilling P-positives in the field had been both dull and frustrating. Many of the people they'd visited swore they'd never taken the shot _nor_ been infected during the outbreak. Despite the accusations that had gotten them reported to NTAC in the first place, they denied having any ability at all. 

They had only managed to register a handful of people (and that included Tom) and struggling to enter them in the database mainly underscored how inadequate the forms were. The relatively small space dedicated to "description of ability" was a joke. Diana—still a scientist at heart no matter what her bosses seemed to think at the moment—couldn't bring herself to half-ass it. She knew she would end up writing separate descriptions on all of them which she would then attempt to cross-reference and categorize on the main form. 

It was going to take a ridiculous amount of time to type up her notes properly and the workload they'd been given didn't even accurately account for the time it took to do the interviews, let alone the write-ups that went with them. The categorizing was the hardest part. After the first successful interview, it seemed like an easy enough task. The woman claimed to have an uncanny ability to predict the weather nearly two weeks in advance. It came with the caveat that she couldn't see overall patterns; she could only predict the weather for the exact location she was standing in. Diana filled the form in with "localized meteorological prediction (see report)" and jotted down additional notes while making sympathetic noises as the woman complained that the Weather Channel didn't believe her. 

However, the next person who cooperated with them had the ability to create smells or perhaps to affect the minds of others so that they _thought_ they were smelling certain odors. This had led to a ridiculously long debate with Tom later in the car about whether there was any difference. Diana felt the question of whether the man could affect the physical environment versus the sensory perceptions of others was an important distinction, but finally conceded that if his ability primarily manifested as making the library smell like baking cookies then it probably didn't actually matter that much. Hoping she'd come up with something better later, Diana labeled that one "scent manipulation (see report)". 

She was a little punchy when she typed up Tom's report at the end of the day and labeled his ability "sees gamete people (see report)." Tom had objected, but not enough to type it up himself. Ditto with her feelings about the form _he_ filled out where a man's ability was listed as only "frogs". She was _not_ going to let herself get suckered into writing more than her share of these no matter how badly Tom was doing his. 

"Frogs, Tom? Seriously?" 

"What else would you call it?" 

"Have you seen this caseload? Even _you_ won't remember what that means a week from now." 

"Frogs?" Marco asked as he passed by in the pseudo-hallway that was formed between their cluttered end of the bullpen and the copy machine. 

"Long story," Tom grunted. 

"Which you're supposed to be typing," Diana added. 

Marco offered Diana a shy smile and then walked headfirst into Meghan. He quickly darted off without even seeming to notice that Meghan's floral shirt was _excessively_ floral. 

Tom _did_ notice. "Meghan? Uh?" 

"Did you know that polyester and polyethylene terephthalate are actually the exact same thing?" Meghan asked. 

Tom said, "No," just as Diana said, "Yes," but Meghan hadn't even paused for their answers. 

"I _didn't_ know that," Meghan said, her voice continuing to rise in pitch even as it dropped in volume. "As I was getting dressed this morning picking out a nice conservative outfit appropriate for an important meeting, I particularly _didn't_ think, 'Gee, I wonder if I should wear the shirt that might spontaneously turn into a herbaceous perennial.'" 

"It's pretty. What is that, baby's breath?" Diana knew as soon as the words were out of her mouth that she wasn't helping the situation. 

"You." Meghan snagged Jed as he walked by. "Give me your shirt." 

"What? No. What?" 

"I have a meeting. You can make more." 

"No, I can't. It doesn't work that way." 

"Hi, is there a problem?" April asked from across the room, nodding meaningfully back at the office where Agent Washington waited. 

"Yes. Dammit. I'll be right there!" Meghan called with false cheer. "I just have to grab a, uh, a thing." 

Diana helpfully made shooing motions at her sister who shrugged and returned to Diana's old office. From a distance, Meghan appeared to be wearing a fuzzy sweater. Seen up close, the stems and petals were just barely clinging together. 

"Shirt, now." 

"Jed, please," Tom added. 

Diana did her very best to focus on Jed as he split, but she never seemed to be able to really see what was happening. One of these days someone needed to get it on a high-speed camera. He was a single entity and then in the next moment, there were… two of him. The one standing farthest from Meghan quickly backed even farther away while the nearer sighed and resigned himself to literally giving up the shirt off his back. 

"Thank you, thank you." Meghan put it on, shook out the flowers underneath, and tucked it into her skirt. "I can do this. I am a professional." 

"Meghan," Tom said, gently. "Calm thoughts." 

"Calm thoughts. I am at fucking peace with the fucking universe. Calm thoughts." 

Diana watched her leave and then glanced back at Jed who was just one fully-clothed person again. "I liked that shirt," he muttered. 

"You're still wearing that shirt," Tom pointed out. 

"I'm wearing _half_ of that shirt," Jed said. "I can't just replicate stuff." 

"Okay, so it's half a shirt," Tom said, clearly not seeing what Jed was worked up about. "It _looks_ like a whole shirt." 

"It doesn't feel like a whole shirt." 

"So each time you split, you halve your mass?" Diana asked. She kicked herself for not thinking of that before, but even abilities that seemed magical had to obey conservation of matter, didn't they? "Are you more susceptible to injury with half as much matter making up your body?" 

Jed looked sick all of a sudden. "God, I hope not. I haven't been injured, at least. My clothing definitely tears more easily though. I've gone through a lot more shirts and slacks than normal lately." 

"It's possible that living tissue is more robust. You should add that to the list of things to test for." Diana thought about it and added, "You obviously don't want to risk breaking any bones, but we could devise something milder, a scratch test or something like that." 

"Has anyone told you that you're kind of creepy when you go all mad scientist?" Jed asked and walked away before Diana could answer. 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Field work did not respect weekends and despite a late start—after she succeeded in making scrambled eggs, even though she was actually trying to make omelets, for her daughter—Diana and Tom were back to the grind. They considered revisiting the incomplete cases from the day before and did manage to catch up with one young man who had dodged them. It turns out he hadn't been dodging them at all. As unlikely as it had originally sounded, he really _had_ been at a pest control expo as his mother had claimed. Who knew they even had pest control conferences? Under ability, Tom scribbled "pied piper" and, after Diana gave him the eyebrow, added, "(see report)". 

However, for most of the day, they just plowed forward with the list of new names. It would take them long enough to get through it as it was. Going back to interview friends and neighbors of those who had denied having abilities … Well, it was not only onerous, it was also just a little Orwellian. Even those with inconsequential abilities like "frogs" objected to them asking too many questions as a matter of principle and Diana sympathized.

Back at the bullpen, she dumped her paperwork on top of her still-packed boxes which were now doubling as extra desk space. They were probably an official fire hazard at this point. In just two days, they'd started to spread out into the main traffic patterns of NTAC. This pleased Diana in a way she wasn't going to admit. If they were going to give her a paperwork-heavy assignment, they could sure as hell give her a desk or they'd just have to deal with the fact that her coffee cup kept ending up on the photocopier. 

"Yo, workaholics!" 

Diana tried to remember the man's name. There were only four people in the theory room to keep track of. Marco, Abigail, and the two new guys. Jim and… the other one. He was the tallest person in the building even with his habitual slouch. You'd think she could remember his name. Apparently, she had a mental block of some kind. 

"Yo," Tom answered without looking up. 

"What'd you do to him?" tall-squidgy-guy-whose-name-she-couldn't-remember asked. He was looking in the doorway to the office where Jed Garrity had fallen asleep underneath one of his two desks. (Given his caseload, Diana did not actually begrudge him the two desks. Okay, she did, but she felt mildly guilty about it.) 

Diana took advantage of his distraction to lean in towards Tom and whisper, "What's his name?" 

"Jim?" 

"Wrong. You're no help." 

Tom shrugged and answered not-Jim, "Yeah, Sleeping Beauty there thought he'd get the jump on this assignment by spreading himself a little too thin." 

"Literally," Diana added. 

"Whoa," not-Jim said. "Could you like see through him and shit?" Diana struggled to remind herself that the guy was, in fact, literally a rocket scientist. From what Marco said, not-Jim hadn't fit in too well with the work culture at NASA, but he came with high recommendations regardless. (On bad days, Marco claimed NASA just wanted to get rid of him.) 

"No, he's surprisingly solid even down to one-eighth of his normal matter. He just wore himself out. Apparently working eight full shifts simultaneously is exactly as tiring as it sounds." 

"What happens at one-sixteenth?" 

"He won't even try. He says he feels weird enough at an eighth." Diana realized belatedly that she sounded annoyed, which was a crappy way to feel about a coworker deciding not to risk his health to satisfy her curiosity. 

"Is it always halves or can he do like equal thirds?" 

He was gesturing with a Cheeto held in one hand like a piece of chalk and Diana suddenly realized he reminded her of one of her old college professors only about two hundred years younger. 

"Halves. Whenever I've seen him do three, he splits and then one of those splits." 

"So, 50-25-25, yeah. Makes sense," he said, popping his Cheeto in his mouth. 

Except he also reminded her of one of April's stoner ex-boyfriends, the one with the squeaky voice who always sounded like he'd forgotten how to exhale. 

"Okay, I'm just going to risk being rude," Diana said. "What's your name? I know we've been introduced, but I'm just blanking for some reason." 

"Brad. Brad K. Not to be confused with Brad Y." As he spoke, he wiped his hand on his white shirt leaving behind a trail of orange Cheeto dust. He then reached out a mostly-clean hand for Diana to shake. 

"Pleased to meet you, Brad K." Diana stood and gave him a formal handshake. She'd learned years ago that the guys in the theory room should be encouraged whenever they remembered to practice social niceties. "I am Diana S." 

"Skouris, yeah. The hot chick is your sister. Marco thinks she's single. Do you think maybe…?" 

"So who is Brad Y.?" she interrupted. She had already met her lifetime quota of people reminding her that she was the hot chick's sister. 

"I don't know. Never met him, but they keep bouncing me his emails. I guess he used to work in the tank before me." 

"No, not Brad Y." Diana sighed. It might have even been just a tiny bit of a sad moan. "Brady. _Brady_ used to work in the theory room before." She almost stopped there, but she'd always been annoyed when people sugar-coated the truth. "Brady died in the outbreak." 

"Whoa. That sucks." 

"A lot of good people died," Tom said stiffly as he walked off with a form in his hand that Diana knew he did not need to file anywhere else. 

"Oh, yo, sorry. He lost family, I heard, right. Like a brother?" 

"Sister and a nephew. His nephew Danny was patient zero actually. Jed there lost his partner. Literally, half the people in the building died." Diana shook it off. Too much to do and she wanted to get back home sooner rather than later. No time to wallow. "So, what are you doing here on a Saturday?" 

"Apparently, those on high," and he pointed upward as if command decisions were literally coming from the heavens, "are _not_ happy with how things went down yesterday. Huge lines at the amnesty registration centers. The stuff entered into the database so far is a mess. Yet most of the field agents are coming back empty-handed because everyone who didn't line up voluntarily's like, 'Yo, me P-pos? No way, man. I don't know what you're talking about.' So, we are going to be here all weekend redesigning the entire database. Come Monday morning, expect new forms. And from what I hear, they're talking about seeking warrants for promicin testing." 

"So, what you're saying is that everything we've done over the last two days will have to be re-done _and_ I get to look forward to informing suspected P-positives that they're facing mandatory blood tests?" 

"Pretty much. Yeah. Sucks." 

"Not blood tests though," Marco said, walking up behind Brad. "Blood tests are hard to get warrants for. It's considered invasive. People get weird about needles. You've got to have a lot of evidence for a judge to go for that." 

Marco's hair had gotten a little long during his slick-backed phase. He kept brushing his bangs out of his eyes, but without the hair gel, it kept falling right back into place. 

"They didn't have _any_ flamin’ hot Cheetos in the vending machine, man. I had to get the regular." 

Marco patted Brad on the back. "We will soldier through, brother. Fight the good fight. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your work," he said with a hesitant smile at Diana. "Sometimes Brad wanders off." 

"No worries," Diana said. "Apparently my work is pointless today. But, hey, at least good news on no blood tests." 

"Yeah, it's saliva tests now." 

"Oh, God, no." 

"Yup. You know what that means. You can now actually administer the tests yourself in the field. And since it's viewed as 'non-invasive' they've decided you don't need warrants." 

Diana groaned. "Does anyone else feel like they woke up in some weird parallel universe where the Soviets won the Cold War?" 

"Every day, yo." 

"So, anyway," Marco said, in that awkward way that signaled he was finally getting around to the main point while trying to pass it off as a casual by-the-way mention. "We were hoping we could get some feedback from an actual field agent." 

"Oh, right," Brad said, literally smacking himself in the forehead. "I knew you sent me upstairs for a reason. So, Skoorz, wanna join us in the creepy cellar?" 

"Skoorz?" she repeated, letting _creepy cellar_ slide entirely. 

Marco cringed and patted Brad on the back again. "Brad, just go back downstairs. No more words. Go." 

"Skoorz?" she repeated yet again after he'd left. 

"He likes to give people nicknames. I'm sure that won't be the last. He tried calling me Mars for a while, but it didn't catch on. Jim might actually be stuck with Slim Jim though, even the guys in accounting have picked it up." 

The conversation sputtered to a stop. Diana's mind sort of blanked out as she got distracted by Marco's hair. If he wanted to keep the bangs, he was in need of a trim. She was curious what he'd look like if he grew them out though. What might have been an awkward silence was filled with shy smiles that slowly turned into a volley of childish giggles. Diana ventured a glance towards Jed's office before darting in for a quick kiss on Marco's cheek. 

"I'd worry less about Jed Garrity and more about the security cameras," Marco whispered in her ear, but there was an appreciative glint in his eye as she stepped back. 

"Right, let's go." Diana closed her laptop, set it atop a box of files, and grabbed the box. "I help you with forms. You help me with paperwork." 

"Oh, sure, I can—" 

Marco reached for the box, but Diana shrugged him off. "Nah, got it." 

Diana regretted declining Marco's help with the box about halfway to the theory room, but she wasn't going to admit it. On the bright side, she figured she could skip a yoga class in exchange. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd let her sister talk her into a yoga class in the first place. It sounded a bit frou-frou somehow. 

She dumped the box with more of a thud than strictly necessary, which failed to startle either Brad or Jim. The name Slim Jim really did fit him. He wasn't just slim but had a vaguely dehydrated look. He was either the oldest person in the building or he'd lived a very rough life.

Abigail greeted her with a genuine smile. "As soon as we get these new forms sorted out, I swear we're going paperless for real this time. Washington has pre-approved the budget for netbooks." 

"What happened to those slate tablets you were supposed to get?" Marco asked. "Those have handwriting recognition software." 

" _Not_ pre-approved in the budget. Touchscreens are a fad anyway." 

Diana divvied up her files to everyone and they all took turn brainstorming ways to standardize the data entry of meteorology and odors. They quickly nixed their plan for drop-down menus after Diana pointed out that half the cases would get filed under miscellaneous and the other half were likely to be miscategorized entirely. 

They tried multiple cross-referenced categories, which almost worked until Jed and Tom joined them, each adding even more cases to the mix. At that point, they realized they didn't have categories to cover all the powers of their own agents, let alone all those they had interviewed. 

"We can't have a category for frogs," Jed protested. "How many other cases would ever get filed under frogs?" 

"We can flag the frogs," Brad said. Since he seemed to be talking to a can of Diet Mountain Dew at the time no one paid any particular attention to him at first. 

The day was wearing on and they were in the midst of a debate over whether they should order pizza for dinner or just call it a day and go home when Brad took over the main monitor and displayed the flagging system he'd already started re-coding. 

The following suddenly appeared across the big screen. 

`Andrews, Franklin: $rodents $rats $mice $animals $an… `

`Baker, Mabel: $UNREGISTERED $UNDETERMINED `

`Baldwin, Thomas: $genetic_analysis $sees_gamete_peop… `

`Carmichael, Matthew: $tissue_regeneration $healing_o… `

`Doyle, Meghan: $matter_conversion $plastic_to_vegeta… `

`Dunleavy, Sandra: $UNREGISTERED $UNDETERMINED `

`Garrity, Jed: $self_replication_with_reassimilation `

`Hunnicutt, Abigail: $math $mathematics $arithmetic `

`Kent, Bradley: $promicin_negative `

`Jones, Bartholomew: $frogs $amphibians $animal_commu… `

`McCauley, Allison: $storm_warnings $localized_meteor… `

`Miller, James: $promicin_negative `

`Pacella, Marco: $teleportation `

`Phillips, Andrew: $scent_manipulation `

`Skouris, April: $interrogation, $truth_compulsion `

`Skouris, Diana: $none $promicin_resistance `

`Williams, James: $UNREGISTERED $UNDETERMINED`

Jed and Tom sighed in unison. A geek lecture was coming and they knew it. Diana shushed them both. This had potential. 

"So this is just a mock-up, obviously," Brad explained, too excited about his own idea to even notice that Diana was the only agent in the room attempting to follow along. "The final reports would access full demographics and there should probs be a current-as-of-date, like for those who tested negative or those suspected positives who haven't been registered yet. Also, suggested follow-up interview schedules for those with abilities that require further study. But the main thing is," and he clicked something that replaced the list of names with the report Diana had typed earlier on the woman that Tom had dubbed The Weather Lady. It was exactly as she had typed it except that throughout the report various words were highlighted, "we can't expect people to be able to file complex abilities under limited headings. Instead, we follow Wonder Woman's example and gather as much detail as possible and then flag the most important keywords." 

"Right, right," Marco agreed, leaning in excitedly. "Additional words can be flagged under review and additional synonym keywords added for ease of report generation." 

"Sorry," Tom said, "Question. Wonder Woman?" 

"He means me," Diana said. 

"Wonder Woman?" Tom repeated. 

"It's a Princess Diana reference," Slim added helpfully. 

Jed had the confused look of a man who still wished he could go back to napping under his desk. "How are the British royals involved?" 

" _Other_ Princess Diana," Slim said, less-helpfully for some of them. 

Tom snapped his fingers. "Lynda Carter. Got it. Lasso, bracelets, invisible plane." 

"The invisible plane was stupid," Abigail said. "In the original comics, she could fly. Taking away that power was sexist. They didn't want her to be as powerful as Superman." 

"She's arguably more powerful than Superman," Slim said. 

Diana herself was amused by the confusion. You didn't grow up with a name like Diana without knowing at least a little bit about Wonder Woman. However as nicknames went, she thought she preferred Skoorz. You could potentially build up a little street cred with a name like Skoorz. Wonder Woman was just going to lead to golden lasso references. In Diana's experience, that didn't leave perps feeling threatened so much as titillated. Also, come to think of it, that was kind of April's _actual_ superpower. 

"And this way we don't need a separate category for adverse effects," Brad continued, unperturbed by the interruptions. "That was already getting way too subjective. Where do you draw the line between cool and not-cool? Is unintended the same as adverse and how do you prove intent anyway?" 

"Like feet versus wisdom teeth," Slim added, not helpful for anyone listening. 

"I'm sorry, what?" 

"I'll explain later," Marco said. "The point is, we're golden. This is exactly the fix we're looking for. All we have to do is hand this over to the programmers and it's their problem and until they've resolved it, it's business as usual. As long as the reports are detailed, the field agents won't have to re-do anything." 

"Awesome," Jed said. "See you Monday." Four Garrities began packing up files immediately. 

Tom, on the other hand, responded with a groan which seemed to confuse Marco. 

" _Somebody_ gets to spend the weekend typing up reports he'd been putting off," Diana whispered into Marco's ear. 

Marco shuddered visibly and turned an adorably helpless gaze on her. She ruffled his hair—gel-free—even while silently chastising herself for not being professional, but screw it, it was Saturday. There were _real_ work days and _Saturday_ work days and the standards shifted a bit on the weekends. Also, Marco was extra cute today. 

"How do you feel about short kids?" Tom asked as he packed up his things. 

"Huh?" Marco hadn't seen this particular trick in action, but Diana winced when she realized the implication. 

Tom didn't even pause in packing. "Brunette. Dark brown eyes, almost black in shadows. Smart, no surprise there. Healthy. But shorter than your usual." 

"My usual?" Diana hadn't meant to ask that out loud. It was enough that Tom had just announced—if anyone was paying attention—that Diana was ovulating, which probably explained the urge to do things to Marco that she'd passed up the chance to do the other day. 

Tom shrugged and offered her an amused leer waggling his eyebrows. Apparently, Diana hadn't been as subtle as she thought about Marco. It shouldn't be possible to pull off a brotherly leer, but Tom Baldwin nearly managed it. He raised his hand to indicate Diana's own height and added, "But this time, you're a bit under your average. Still, healthy’s nothing to sneeze at." 

"You've made your point, Tom." 

"You wanted to be kept updated." He winked as he walked out. 

"Don't make me email Ann," she called after him. 

It wasn't quite an empty threat. If HR filled out the wrong sort of report, it didn't exactly look great on your record. But Diana knew it would be more a punishment for Ann than anyone else. The new wave of abilities had been something of a nightmare for HR. 

There had been a lot of memos. 

♥…—…—…—…♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part of writing a story set a decade ago is that it feels modern and yet I constantly had to double check technology and pop-culture references. Did they use the phrase "friend zone" then? (Yes, it was popularized by a 1994 episode of _Friends_.) Was Twitter a thing yet? (It had been around just a year at the point this story is set so it wasn't as widely known. Hashtags were not yet ubiquitous.) What technology was cutting-edge? (I loved my netbook and I remember how people used to marvel when I'd pull this tiny computer out of my bag.) I couldn't believe how much effort I had to put into making sure my nearly-modern story was "period accurate".


	6. Diana and Marco Do Not Have Shower Sex

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

There were several days to go before their next _appointment_ and two different people with special abilities had mentioned babies to Diana in a single week, so now obviously wasn’t a good time for sex regardless. 

Diana was, in a judgmental corner of her brain, a bad mother. She didn't even have the excuse of Maia being conveniently at one of her many extracurricular activities. Maia would have gotten home while Slim and Abigail had still been arguing about drop-down menus. By now Maia was probably rotting her brain watching television. 

Being a bad mother to _another_ child was unthinkable. Hence, definitely _not_ the time for impulsive sex. 

Diana made it to Marco's place before he did. She paced outside the door wondering whether it would be coming on too strongly to ask for a key. This wasn't a spare-key relationship really, was it? _Not a relationship at all, Diana,_ she reminded herself. _Don’t get weird._

She was startled when Marco opened the door from the inside. She couldn't stop herself from glancing over her shoulder as if his car should have suddenly materialized as well. 

"I didn't drive," he said, noticing her confusion. Diana blinked at him and he added a little jazz-hands move for emphasis. "You know, 'magic'." 

Diana rolled her eyes, but let _magic_ slide. Science. Magic. Any sufficiently advanced technology. Blah, blah. "Then what took you so long?" she asked as she shoved him back into his living room. 

"I got pizza." He waved in the direction of the table. "I don't know about you, but I'm always starving after a long day at the off—" 

Diana grabbed his head and pulled him into a kiss, open-mouthed and wet, but quick. "Pizza later," she said when she pulled back. "Sex now." 

"Yeah, okay." Marco shook off the haze and added, "except not. Not really okay. I mean, timing? Your psychic daughter was just warning us about diapers and Tom just said that you're extra fertile today." 

Diana didn't argue, but leaned in again and licked across Marco's lips. 

"I thought we were just going to, um, _talk_ about the sex," he said breathlessly. Marco's resolve was clearly weakening even as he protested. "Pizza and talking about sex. Talking about, um, exactly what we should do next. Maybe we could make a list of, of, um …" 

For a moment, Diana found herself lost in a kiss that felt a thousand times more obscene than the oral sex of mere days before. Damn, but hormones were actually kind of fun sometimes. 

She pulled back and enjoyed just looking at Marco's expression for a moment. "Right. Intercourse is definitely off the table today." Marco's face fell as if he hadn't been debating that exact point. " _Not_ willing to risk it. There aren't enough condoms in the world. But that's not the only kind of sex. We can do other things that would be fun. Agreed?" 

"I love other things. All kinds of other things. Other things are absolutely…" 

"I'm in a bit of a hurry though. I _really_ need to get home before Maia's bedtime. Do you mind if we showered first though? Is that a rude question? Are men offended if you ask them to shower before sex? Ugh, babbling, that's probably a turn-off too." 

This time it was Marco who pulled Diana into the kiss and she reflected that it was really just as well. Analyzing sex and having sex at the same time was going to be tricky. Even when her body was completely turned on, she couldn't turn her brain off. 

The kiss ended. Marco stepped back. They both burst into giggles at the same moment. 

"Babbling is okay," Marco said. "Talking about this is the whole point, right? And a shower is fine. Not shower sex though, just showering?" 

"Right, no shower sex." 

"Good." 

"Yeah, it sounds romantic in theory…" 

"…but it seems likely to end in a concussion, yeah." 

"Come on." Diana tugged lightly on Marco's hand as she led him to the bedroom. She kicked off her shoes as she rifled through her bag. It wasn't the fully-stocked overnight bag that she'd been planning to put together, but she'd had the sense to put a spare toothbrush and underwear in it the other night. She began undressing as soon as she found the toothbrush. "This should go without saying, but don't discount the value of personal hygiene. Getting intimate with a somebody who has bad body odor or halitosis, it's a quick turn-off." 

She already had her bra off when she realized Marco was just standing there staring at her. She thought she should feel self-conscious, just standing there topless while he gaped at her, but she found herself laughing again instead. "Marco, come on. I promise, this coming Thursday, we sneak away from work early. Maia has her weekly French Club so we can take all the time we want. _Tonight_ , we have a time limit." 

"Yeah, I just thought I'd let you go first," he said. 

"You don't want to join me?" she asked. She slid off her slacks and underwear in one move and then grabbed her toothbrush. "Shared personal hygiene can double as foreplay." 

"All evidence to the contrary, watching you brush your teeth is not one of my turn-ons, but if you're going to be doing it naked, I'm not arguing." 

"I was thinking more of a little help with those hard to reach areas in the shower." 

"I thought we just agreed on no sex in the shower." It sounded like a protest, but he was already working on his shirt buttons. Diana called it a victory and started to brush her teeth. 

"I'm not suggesting sex," she called over her shoulder. "All I said was shared personal hygiene." 

When she finished brushing her teeth, Marco was standing naked and fully aroused in the bathroom doorway. He wasn't much larger fully erect than he had been immediately post-ejaculation, which was actually a relief. The male ego aside, big in her experience generally just meant uncomfortable. He was significantly less purple than last time. _Overripe_ had probably been a pretty good term for his condition the other night. Only the head of his penis showed any discoloration so far. 

"For the record, you're pretty cute naked." 

"Noted." Beyond being slightly out of breath, there was nothing in his demeanor to even hint that they were having this conversation naked. 

"Also for the record, when a woman compliments your naked body, you might want to reply with something other than 'noted'." 

"Also noted." 

There was an awkward silence as Diana realized Marco had nothing more to say and the insecurities she’d dodged before snuck up on her. His arousal should count as an unspoken compliment and yet his silence left the opportunity for doubt to whisper in her ear. _You’re older than he is. You’re older than Abigail. He’s seen better recently._

Diana liked to pretend that she was above fishing for compliments. She at least had the grace to give up if she didn't bring one in on the first reel. She would explain feminine insecurities to Marco later. He couldn't expect all of his partners to be as easygoing as she was about it. 

She turned the hot water on in the shower as soon as Marco had finished brushing his own teeth. While she waited for it to warm up, she found herself slipping back into lecture mode. "Okay, so obviously if this were an _actual_ date, you'd want to be a little more subtle about these things. Quick shower _before_ the date, et cetera." 

"Obviously," he said with a slight frown. 

"God, I'm talking to you like you're an alien or something, aren't I? _And this,_ " she said grabbing her left breast in both hands and giving it a vigorous jiggle, " _is what's called a breast._ " 

Instead of laughing as she'd expected, he licked his lips and just stared at her chest. "Can I do that?" 

"No." 

"Okay." 

"Seriously, that was a bad …" Joke, example. She wasn't even sure what she meant. "Breasts _are_ sensitive, which means most women _don't_ respond well to the rough groping." 

"Okay." Marco, to his credit, adjusted his gaze back to her eyes, but with an intensity that was a little disconcerting. 

When he didn’t move, Diana prompted, "So, shower, now?" 

"Okay. Good. Shower. Yes." 

_Presenting: Marco Pacella, Caveman._ Diana suppressed a giggle and fiddled with the knobs to adjust it back from scalding to as-hot-as-she-could-stand and stepped in. Diana had always found something magically rejuvenating about hot water and shampoo. She immediately relaxed as the water poured over her. Even Marco's generic _For Men_ shampoo felt good as she lathered it through her hair. Marco had followed her into the shower, but remained entirely hands-off and instead clutched at the wall as if he expected to find a handle there to steady himself. 

"Make yourself useful," she said tossing him a washcloth. Marco soaped it up and tentatively began scrubbing her back. Diana murmured encouragingly and reached for the conditioner. It was also _For Men_ and Diana wondered fleetingly if men really thought their hair was that different from women's and then realized it was probably just code for _Does **not** smell like piña colada and mermaids._

With her hands raised up to her head, Marco grew a little bolder and trailed the washcloth along her side, mirroring the action with soapy fingers along her opposite flank. She grimaced when his fingers reached the stubble under her arms. "Sorry. I really hadn't planned for this. If you'd be willing to loan me a razor, I could take care of that." 

"Hmm?" Marco slid his hand down to her hips and then all the way back up to her armpits again. 

"I know that some men are turned off by female body hair." She let the statement hang in the air, not quite a question. Greg-the-lawyer had made an offhand comment that seemed like a playful joke at the time, but, in hindsight, she wasn’t so sure. She was perfectly fine with shaving her armpits. Shaving was something her grandmother had trained them to do before either she or April were allowed to go swimming. Nice girls don't show off body hair in public. Though oddly the message Diana had always gotten was that body hair was about sex. Anything nice girls didn't do was ultimately about sex, she figured. Body hair was private, therefore sexy. Hairy men in swim trunks were a double standard she didn't entirely understand in her youth, but she'd never doubted that that was about sex too. 

She appreciated a little body hair on her lovers and had been a bit humiliated the first time she realized that the feeling was not always reciprocated. Recent trends, in pornography at least, only seemed to be making matters worse. The last lover she'd had before Ben had tried to talk her into getting a Brazilian and there were just certain parts of her body where she was _not_ willing to deal with razor stubble. Who decided pubic mohawks were a thing, anyway? 

"No, it's fine," Marco said, tracing a soapy thumb across her armpit again. He sounded sincere but distracted and Diana shuddered as he hit a ticklish spot. She felt a warmth and wetness between her legs that had nothing to do with the shower. 

She took his hand and moved it lower. He had to step closer to reach properly and she felt his erection pressing against her backside just as his fingers found her pubic hair. She thought she should probably discourage physical contact without a condom. It was statistically unlikely that they would conceive just from pre-ejaculate, but Marco already had a history of letting loose without warning and extravaginal conception, though rare, was not impossible. Those little swimmers could be determined if they were deposited too close to their target. 

She also thought that she ought to moan or something. The women in the porn videos were always moaning and writhing at this point. Marco probably expected it. Yet that was precisely the thing about porn that turned her off. It was always so obvious that the women were faking it—the crude dialogue, the ridiculous noises, the choppy edits where something hadn't gone as scripted. Instead, she found herself asking again, "So you're okay with a hairy chick?" 

"It's lovely," Marco said kissing her neck and sliding soapy fingers along her vulva. 

She felt dizzy and immediately realized that she had led them right back across the line they'd established at the start. Giddiness in a soapy shower was only going to lead to embarrassing discussions in the Emergency Room. "The sooner we finish washing up, the sooner we can move to the bed." 

"Right," Marco agreed, moving his hands away from where she wanted them and reaching for the knob. "I'm feeling clean enough." 

Diana slapped his hand away. "I'm still covered in conditioner and you haven't even washed properly at all." She rinsed her hair and then took the washcloth away from him and very pointedly—and probably not at all sexily—washed between her legs. She rinsed and re-soaped the cloth and told Marco that it was his turn. 

Marco hastily scrubbed his chest. He had a sprinkling of dark hair across his pectorals, but more along the centerline of his chest and on his stomach where it grew thicker until, at some indeterminate point, it became pubic hair. He was the kind of man who would have made Diana very nervous in swim trunks when she was young. "Okay, I'm good. Washed my hair this morning. So I'm good." He rinsed quickly and turned the shower off before Diana could protest. 

He tossed a towel at her that landed on her head. She decided they were going to need an extra debriefing over coffee after this. Honestly, she already had enough material for a typed report, but she was never, ever committing a word of this to paper. 

"Marco?" 

He was toweling himself off with a shimmy that made his dick sway back and forth and Diana completely lost what she was going to say and then she started laughing. Marco froze. 

She grabbed a clean washcloth, wet it down in the sink, and added a pump of hand soap. "If you want my mouth anywhere near it, wash it." 

Marco hesitated. "Now I feel self-conscious." 

She probably shouldn't giggle so much. This had to be killing the mood. "Okay. You don't like asking for specific sex acts. I respect that. You're right; you shouldn't be too demanding. It's better to offer what you're comfortable with and see if you can find something both parties are interested in." 

"Right." 

"But we're working with a time constraint." 

"Right." 

"So strictly in the interest of efficiency," Diana said grabbing the washcloth away from him, "turn around, bend over, and spread 'em." 

"Mm-hmm." Marco looked physically pained as he turned and leaned over the tub. 

If he was already non-verbal, she probably needed to slow things down a little bit, efficiency be damned. This would not be the first time she wasn't home by Maia's bedtime even if she usually had a legitimate work-related excuse. "Practice your multiplication tables or something," she suggested. 

"Two. Four. Six. Eight…" 

"A little more focus than that, Marco. You know where this washcloth is going." 

"Seven. Fourteen. Twenty-one…" 

Diana rolled up a towel and placed it on the floor by the tub. "Go ahead and kneel on that and lean on the side of the tub." 

Marco complied as his voice rose noticeably. "Thirteen. Twenty-six. Thirty-nine. Fifty-two. Sixty-five…" 

"Better," she said, "but let's up the difficulty factor. Let's get the blood flowing back into your brain. How about… One. Eight. Twenty-seven…" 

"What?" 

"Nothing tricky, just basic pattern recognition. Listen and think. One. Eight. Twenty-seven…" 

"Oh, right, um… Sixty-four. One hundred twenty-five. Um, two hundred sixteen. Three hundred forty-three…" 

Diana reached between Marco's legs and gently slid the soapy washcloth over his penis. He made a sound that, if she were being generous, she'd call a moan. It was really more of a "Mwaaa-haaa-haa" kind of sound. They ought to practice sex noises another time. They could probably both improve in that area. 

"Steady." 

The next noise that came out of him was nearly a wail. 

"You left off at eight-cubed," she reminded him. 

"Five hundred twelve. Seven hundred twenty-nine. One thousand. One thousand three hundred thirty-one. One thouwahaha—" 

"Doing okay there?" Diana asked. His testicles had pulled in tight. He was very close. It would probably help his ego a little if she gave him permission before it happened. "We aren't aiming for intercourse tonight, so don't hold back on my account, okay?" 

"One thousand seven hundred twenty-eight," Marco said, a stubborn edge to his voice. 

"Atta boy." She moved the washcloth back between his buttocks and with the knuckle of her thumb very deliberately ground the terry-cloth against his anus. 

"Shit!" 

"None that I can see. Why, do you need a potty break?" 

"Fuck! You are a surprisingly filthy woman, Diana." 

Diana stood up and rinsed the cloth in the sink. "This is the opposite of filthy. This is me being a compulsive clean freak, which I almost feel like I should apologize for, but if you'd seen half the bacteria I have under a microscope… Okay, hang in there for another moment. Same again, but we're just rinsing the soap off. Okay?" 

Marco nodded, but only huffed his acknowledgment. They definitely weren't making it to the bedroom tonight. 

A quick rinse and, without giving herself time to chicken out, she gave him a quick kiss right on his asshole. He let fly a string of blasphemies that even Diana was impressed by and Diana had learned to swear with the best of them. Her dad and his drinking buddies couldn't have topped that. 

"People actually like that?" she asked, honestly surprised at his enthusiasm. 

"People actually _do_ that?" he answered. 

Diana shrugged, "Never actually done it before. Dated a guy who asked. He wanted the full deal too. But, well, probably the less said about him, the better. Short version, I always said no." 

"I wouldn't have believed you even _knew_ about rim jobs." 

"I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult. I do read, you know." 

"Where do you read about… that?" 

"Everywhere?" Aside from the dark corners of the Internet that she generally pretended not to know about, there was also… yeah, everywhere. "You realize how many romance novels there are on this planet, right?" 

"Romance novels, yeah, but books with, with sex, _that_ kind of sex?" 

"All kinds of sex, Marco." 

"I thought it was all, I don't know, dreamy barons on moors and…" 

"…and then they have sex. Yeah, that's the gist of it." 

"My _mother_ reads romance novels!" 

Diana literally rolled back and sat on the floor laughing. Marco turned around and faced her looking horrified, all indication of arousal gone. 

"Some of them are more innocent than others," Diana said. "The baron and the orphaned heiress fall into each other's arms. The end. Sometimes. Mostly they have lots of gratuitous sex. _Then_ the end." 

"Oh, my God. I never even thought about what 'bodice ripper' meant until this very moment." 

"Also, I hate to break this to you, but your mother had sex. At least once. You have siblings?" Diana felt bad that she couldn't remember their names, but she was fairly certain Marco had mentioned at least two sisters. 

Marco covered his eyes with one hand and with the other raised three fingers. 

"Your mother had sex at least four times." 

"I think I might hate you a little bit right now." 

Diana leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. It was strangely non-sexual considering they were both naked and she'd been groping his genitalia moments before. "Bedroom," she said and got up and walked out. 

Diana stretched out on the bed and waited. Marco followed mere seconds later looking sheepish. 

"So, zero for two so far," he said. "I'm really sorry about—" 

"Save your apologies for your imagined failures until after it's over. Hint: it ain't over." She drew up the knee closest to him in what she felt was a fairly obvious invitation. Probably not her best angle, but she'd been patient long enough. 

Marco required no further encouragement and crawled onto the bed, immediately going head-first between her legs. 

"Atta boy," she murmured almost to herself. He lapped gently between her folds, gently teasing at her clitoris only briefly between long licks. "You're actually quite good at this." 

He lifted his head up and smirked at her. "Try not to sound so surprised." 

"I was clearly not paying enough attention the other night." 

"Well, I was. A slower build-up, gentler touch. See, I listen." 

"I'll give you a cookie later. In the meantime, less talking." 

"Do you want fingers or is this good?" 

"I think this might do it. Tongues are really marvelous things. Just, um." She struggled for a moment searching for the right words. English was such a terrible language for sex. Everything sounded either unpleasantly crude or comically clinical. With other lovers, she had leaned toward the crude side, with Marco clinical felt more natural. 

"You can use your fingers to spread my labia. You'll have a better view of what you're doing and the sensation is, uh, pleasant." She wasn't even sure if the sensation of being spread open was so much physically pleasing or a psychological effect of feeling exposed to someone she trusted. Whatever. She liked it. 

"There. Perfect. Just. That. Don't ever stop doing that. There. Oh." Diana hummed softly to continue giving Marco auditory feedback when she ran out of words. She was almost positive that she could _hear_ time slowing down as his tongue danced over her skin. She felt herself falling back into her body, strangely disconnected from all sensory input beyond the reach of Marco's mouth. _Oh, this is going to be a good one,_ she thought, even before the wave overtook her. 

Marco licked her all the way through it and when she was done writhing, he popped up to face her looking proud of himself. "I done good?" 

"Ya done good," she laughed. 

"How good?" 

"On a scale from one to eleven?" she asked, thinking vaguely even as she said it that _Spinal Tap_ jokes were probably not a good metaphor for orgasms. 

"On a scale from _thank-you_ to _blow job_ ," he answered, apparently having left his self-consciousness back in the bathroom. 

"Definitely blow job." Diana sat up and glanced around. "Where'd you put those condoms?" 

"We don't actually need … I mean, I'm clean. We all got the full physical, blood tests and all, after the outbreak. And I haven't been with anyone else since." 

She was about to correct him when she realized that _we_ already included Abigail. 

"What did you have for lunch?" 

"Slim Jim made a taco run. Why?" 

"Beef tacos?" 

"Yeah." 

"In that case, definitely condom." 

"I realize that you're the CDC expert, but I'm pretty sure you can't catch anything from me just because I had tacos for lunch." 

Marco pointed out the drawer where he'd saved the stash of condoms from Maia's school, but Diana ignored that and grabbed one of the condoms she'd gotten from a vending machine the day before. They'd been interviewing a bartender and when Diana stopped in the ladies room, she'd been amused to find the club was selling flavored condoms: tropical punch, mint chocolate, banana, and bubble gum. Diana bought one of each except for the bubble gum, which just had unfortunate chewing connotations. "Condoms have three uses. One, prophylactic. Two, contraceptive. Three, spunk yuck barrier." 

"Spunk yuck?" 

"It's a very technical term. Let me reveal a secret to you, Marco. All those porn videos, they lied to you. Dicks are _not_ delicious ice cream cones that make women's mouths water. On any random day, semen tastes like a landfill." 

"How do tacos come into this?" 

"Not the tacos, the beef. You know that bumper sticker that Carl has on his SUV? 'I only eat vegans.' He thinks it's a clever anti-vegan joke about cannibalism." 

Marco blinked vacantly for a moment before the light dawned. "It's actually a pro-vegan oral sex joke?" 

"Yup." 

"Can I tell him?" 

"The IT department is running a pool to see how long until he figures it out on his own." 

Marco turned onto his back and stared blankly at the ceiling as Diana took him in hand. His erection didn’t seem quite as full as before, but she was optimistic that she could get him back. She put the condom over the head of his penis and rubbed her way down, licking as she went. He thickened in her hand immediately. She rolled the condom past his circumcision scar and only partway down his length. She would have rolled it further if they were having intercourse, but deep-throating was a skill she neither had nor planned to acquire so it was more than enough. This way she had a bit more friction at the base. 

"I can't give up steak. Or hamburgers. I was a vegetarian once for about seven hours and then I remembered that dead animals are delicious." He could have been talking to himself or the ceiling as much as to Diana at that point. She wasn't sure if he was doing it on purpose to distract himself and slow down his response time or if he was genuinely that worried about it. 

"You don't have to be a full-time vegetarian. It's a fast-acting effect. Just avoid meat before any dates where you're optimistic about getting head. Also, if you drink pineapple juice, that helps." 

"Wait, that's real? I heard that, but it sounded like one of those stupid things guys say in the locker room that's total bullshit." 

"It's real," Diana said confidently. 

"Huh. Always learning new stuff." 

With less confidence, she added "I think it's real. Ben swore by it anyway. In actual practice, it was a little inconsistent. But you have to consider other factors like other foods eaten, medication, and hydration levels. Would you believe I've never found _any_ peer-reviewed research?" 

"We should keep a nutrition log," Marco said. "Make a note of any promising correlations. We could eventually try strict elimination diet protocols, but I'd prefer to have a list of target consumables to test. I wonder if skin absorption could be an issue? For instance, a medicated lotion…" 

Diana dipped her mouth down over his glans and Marco went silent. They really needed to work on their verbal communication. There had to be a middle ground between crude pornographic dialog and the awkward silences interspersed with random conversations about bumper stickers, landfills, and how many times Marco's mother had had sex. 

The advantage of guys though was that, in this instance at least, words were not necessary. Guys had built-in arousal indicators. She licked and stroked him with one hand and moved her other hand to fondle his scrotum, at least that's what Marco would think she was doing. She was basically gauging how taut he was and whether what she was doing was working for him or not. 

It was working. She thought it was really her hand on his shaft having the most effect. The condom inhibited some of her better moves, but the visual she was giving him of her mouth over his glans was hopefully making up for it. Sex was largely a mental thing. In only a short time, Marco went from dead silent to chanting, "Oh, God, I love you!" over and over again. Marco seemed to repeat himself a lot during sex. It amused her to watch his brain get stuck in a loop. "I love you! I love you! I love you!" he cried as he came. 

"Do you mind if I take my pizza with me?" she asked after he'd stopped panting, but before he'd had a chance to fall asleep. 

"What?" 

She was already pulling her clothes on. "I really do have to get home. But if I could just grab some of the pizza and take it with me I wouldn't have to worry about fixing dinner." 

"Yeah, yeah, take it. Just leave me a few slices. I'll, um, eat them later." 

Diana kissed him on the forehead before she left the bedroom. "For the record, this was one of my more brilliant ideas. Okay, see you, Monday. How do you feel about meeting before work? Donuts and debriefing?" 

"Debriefing?" Marco asked, but the word was slurred and she could sense him slipping away so she didn't bother to elaborate. 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Maia was still awake when she arrived home with two-thirds of a pizza. Diana and her daughter never discussed where the other slices had gone. 

♥…—…—…—…♥


	7. Diana Versus Traffic

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Diana picked Marco up on the way to work Monday morning. He briefly protested that he didn't need a ride even if his car was still in the lot at work. Diana was still nervous about the safety of his ability. What if he teleported into a brick wall or into another person? She didn't argue that point though because she feared he would consider her concerns insulting and instead emphasized the opportunity to talk. Sitting in the car in traffic was one of the few places where they could have a private conversation, at least without the temptation of the conversation ending up naked. _Talking_ about the sex was supposed to be the whole point after all. She was still a little surprised at how easily their friendship had evolved into friends-who-get-naked-together. 

"I'm not practicing sex noises with you in the car," Marco said tersely, sipping his coffee and frowning at the car ahead of them. She eased off on the accelerator a tiny bit before he made another comment about tailgating. 

"Not now. I'm just saying it's going on the list." 

"Fine." 

"It wasn't a criticism." 

"You compared me to Fozzie Bear." 

"One sound. Not you. One sound that you happened to make, twice. And like you said, I giggle too much. See? Constructive feedback both ways." 

"You don't giggle _too much_. I'm just saying that there is a line between giggling _at_ and giggling _with_ and sometimes you blur that line. And, for the love of God, _never_ mention a man's mother while you're touching his butt." 

" _Noted._ " 

Diana didn't actually see Marco roll his eyes, but he turned to stare out the passenger side window as if the slow lane was suddenly fascinating. Actually, the _slow_ lanes seemed to be moving faster. Diana ditched the High-Occupancy Vehicle diamond lane for a gap in traffic. 

"This only works if we communicate," she reminded him gently when he still hadn't said anything for several minutes. 

"The actual sex, awesome," he said. 

"Agreed." _Of course,_ as soon as she changed lanes the diamond lane opened back up again. 

"This post-sex _debriefing_ thing, more difficult than I'd expected." 

"But worth it, right?" When he didn't answer immediately, she teased, "Come on, we're going to be _sex gods_ by the time we're done." 

"Sex gods by the time we're done," Marco repeated, the terse clip to his voice not letting up at all. "Right. Okay, so any other helpful tips?" 

It was as good a time to bring it up as any. "This isn't really about the sex exactly, but you might want to be a little more careful about the things you _say_ during sex. You don't have to worry about me, I get it, but some women will hold you to sex talk." 

Marco turned and looked at her. "Say again?" 

"I'm aware that, well, in the rush of endorphins the brain tends to short circuit a bit and you can't always control which words pop out of your mouth, but… if possible, try to avoid saying 'I love you' during sex unless you're prepared to pick out tableware and meet her parents. That's certainly not true for all women, but it's best to play it safe to avoid misunderstandings." 

"Oh." Marco looked back out the window and said nothing more for several moments before clearing his throat and tentatively asking, "So, this Thursday…" She glanced over when he hesitated, but he was just looking down at his travel coffee mug and didn’t meet her eye. "If I don't eat any meat all day and I drink pineapple juice…?" 

"You're on." She reached over and ruffled his hair. 

"I think you might have a hair fixation." 

"Is that a bad thing?" 

"Not at all. It's fi— _Holy Mother of Fuck! Diana! You're going to get us killed!_ " 

"Oh, come on, that wasn't even close." Diana was slightly flummoxed at his reaction. She was an excellent driver and that was a perfectly legal lane change. 

"Both hands on the steering wheel!" 

Diana complied just to make Marco feel better. She didn't even bother to point out that she was perfectly capable of a simple lane change one-handed, and she hadn't been _at all_ close to any of the other cars. Okay, maybe a _little_ close, but they were all going so slow, it could hardly matter. 

"For the record, I'm more than willing to be late to work if the alternative is fiery death." 

"Agent Washington's starting the day with an announcement about the new ability-training program." 

"All the more reason to be late," Marco grumbled. "Is this about the tooth thing?" 

"The tooth thing?" 

"Oh, that's right. I was going to explain about the feet and the teeth and then there was sex and I got distracted. You at least heard about the foot thing? _Everyone_ was talking about the foot thing." 

"Is this about Carmichael?" She'd heard something about Carmichael healing an old man's foot the other day. She hadn't paid that much attention. That which would have been a miracle not so long ago was just another day at the office. "He healed some guy's injured foot. We already knew he was a healer." 

"Not injured, missing. The man's foot was amputated thirty years ago and just _sproing!_ it's back." 

"Sproing?" she repeated, feeling he had just proven her point about weird sound effects. 

"Okay, maybe not _sproing_. It took a few minutes. The point was that Carmichael didn't even know the guy was walking on a prosthetic foot. He was trying to cure the guy's cough, which didn't work at all." 

"So in a world where we can re-grow feet, the common cold still eludes us," she laughed. 

"So then the tooth thing. A friend of his burnt his hand in the kitchen. Trivial burn. The kind of thing you run cold water over it and your finger hurts for a couple days. But he's got a magical healing buddy right there, so why heal naturally the slow way?" 

"I'm not comfortable with the way we keep casually tossing around the word magic," Diana said. 

"Agreed. It's just… I can freaking teleport and it _feels_ like magic. I _want_ to describe it in scientific terms, but none of our abilities came with instruction manuals. I just don't have the understanding to build an appropriate vocabulary for what any of us can do." 

"Which is what I think this 'ability training' is supposed to be about. Those of you with abilities need to be able to practice them in a controlled environment so we can figure out how they work. And what did that story have to do with teeth?" she added. 

"Oh, so, he healed his friend's burnt finger and the guy ended up with debilitating _tooth_ pain. Makes an emergency appointment with the dentist the next day where he has his wisdom teeth removed _again_." 

"Shit!" 

"I know, right?" 

"So he isn't just healing people's _injuries_. It's like a physical reset to their genetic programming?" 

"Imagine shaking Carmichael's hand if you'd had a nose job," Marco said with a snort. 

Diana felt a little queasy because she could imagine worse. "What if you'd had corrective surgery for a birth defect?" 

"Shit." 

She still dreaded having to be in the same room with Washington, but the meeting itself intrigued her now. So much data to collect and analyze. So little time. 

"Why is everyone _so slow_?" Diana realized she was whining, but couldn't stop herself. "The diamond lane is not for going forty!" 

"I-5 is conspiring against you. It's a plot." 

Against all her expectations, they pulled up at NTAC with a good fifteen minutes to spare. 

"See?" Marco said, showing her the time on his cell phone. 

"No one likes I-told-you-so, Marco." 

Marco hesitated as they got out of the car. "Is it okay if we don't go into the building together. I really don't want to have to explain this relationship that we're _not_ having to people." 

"Do you really think you can keep a secret at NTAC?" Diana asked, genuinely bemused. Government agents assigned to confidential case files were the biggest gossips that Diana had ever met. It was like there was a minimum amount of information a human being needed to convey every twenty-four hours and the more things you marked "confidential" the more compelled they were to speculate about whomever the UPS driver might be banging. 

"I just don't want to have to explain it to people when we 'break up,'" he said, doing the air quotes with the hand not holding his coffee. 

"Fine. You want to wait out here for five minutes or shall I?" 

"No need. I'll just meet you inside." And then he was just gone. 

Diana frowned at the empty space where he'd stood a moment before. "That's still going to be weird for a while." 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Their fourth interview of the morning was with three women at a little boutique called _Peaceful Passion_. Only two of the three were there yet, which made Diana pessimistic of wrapping things up before lunch. 

"Cassandra should be back anytime," Sibyl said again. 

Diana glanced at her notes just as Tom said, "That would be Sandra?" 

"Sandra is short for Cassandra." There was an exotic lilt to the woman’s voice that conjured images of African villages and Jamaican breezes and New Orleans jazz clubs all at the same time. That is to say, utterly fake. 

"Well, someone didn’t bother to tell her mother that," Diana said, glancing doubtfully at the pseudo-exotic decor that was as culturally-inconsistent as Sibyl's accent, with Celtic wall-hangings and Chinese dragons. Faerie-themed tarot cards were marked 25%-off next to a display of essential oils. Tom and Diana were ensconced in embroidered wing-back chairs in a corner of the shop. Sibyl and her partner sat across a small table in a matching love seat. "Her birth certificate says ‘Sandra’ on it." 

"We are more than our birth certificates," Sibyl answered sagely with a slow nod as punctuation. Sibyl’s birth certificate also said her name was Jennifer, but Diana decided that she’d made her point. 

"For instance, _your_ birth certificate says you were born in Renton. And my records show that your parents were both from Olympia, and you've never been overseas so… That accent?" 

"Fine, whatever," she snapped, dropping all pretense of an exotic accent. "Be a killjoy. Is it a crime to try and build a little atmosphere?" 

The quiet woman at Sibyl’s side frowned. "We’re not using _false_ names. They’re just _professional_ names. You know, like Norma Jean calling herself Marilyn." 

"Let's just fill out your forms while we wait for Cassandra, shall we?" Tom said, poking at the tiny netbook with over-large hands. The department had only assigned them one to share and Diana had opted for keeping handwritten notes of her own while Tom typed. They hadn't argued about it out loud, but Diana was quite clear in her own mind that if she were to take over the netbook, Tom wouldn't keep any notes of his own at all. As much as he _tried_ to be a modern man, with a respectful attitude toward his female coworkers, he could also effortlessly backslide into expecting an invisible secretary to appear out of thin air with coffee and all his reports neatly collated for him. 

"Your ability, Sibyl?" There was a heavy silence. The women had already stated their resistance to answering questions until all three of them could be present. Diana still wasn't entirely sure any of them _had_ abilities. They'd been reported by a neighbor whose accusation of _weird magic_ emphasized _weird_ over _magic_ and was possibly nothing more than a nuisance complaint against a _coven_ of hippies. 

She glanced around the little storefront shop full of occult jewelry and colorful scarves. It was half a store and half a fortune teller's tent. The scent of sandalwood incense was doing an ineffective job of masking the scent of something earthier. 

Tom was slouched in his chair in a way that suggested that the second-hand not-incense was starting to get to him. Diana was feeling uncharacteristically calm and patient herself. 

"Report your abilities before the deadline, full immunity," Tom reminded them. "We won't even ask if your ability pre-dates the outbreak. But if you aren't registered by the deadline, you'll be considered in violation of the law regardless of how you became P-positive." 

The women exchanged a look and then Sibyl shrugged. "Give me your hands," she said, reaching out to both Tom and Diana. 

They each took an outstretched hand and Diana felt a strange tingling in her own fingertips as Sibyl's hand grew steadily warmer. 

"Your superpower is warm hands?" Tom asked. 

Sibyl let them go and leaned back on her embroidered love seat. " _My_ hands aren't warm," she said, "and it works on objects too." She demonstrated placing her hand on a small crystal ball on the table. Diana heard it buzz slightly on its stand, even as she rubbed her hands together confirming that the hand Sibyl had touched had become warmer than the other. 

Diana reached out to touch the glass ball and found it almost hot. 

"If she really concentrates, she can make microwave popcorn without the microwave," her friend chirped, which suddenly made the ability seem significantly more unpleasant. 

"But that takes _a lot_ of effort," Sibyl added hastily. "Mainly it's just making things a tiny bit warm, sometimes if the resonance is just right, some objects hum or buzz." 

"You can vibrate matter at the molecular level," Diana said, not so much a question as rewording it for the report she was composing in her head. 

"Your boyfriend's got to love that," Tom muttered with a dumb grin on his face. 

Diana kicked him in the ankle and then turned back to the women in front of them. "Could you open a window? It's a little… _herbal_ in here." 

"My _girlfriend_ is very appreciative, yes," Sibyl said, slipping an arm around the other woman with a pointed glare at Tom. 

Tom just grinned back at her like an idiot. 

"And you?" Diana asked. "Do you have an ability that you'd like to register before the amnesty ends?" 

The young woman nodded but said nothing. 

"Name?" Tom asked, poking at the netbook in a semblance of professional behavior. 

"Veruca Salina." 

Diana rolled her eyes and then skimmed through her notes. "Veronica Salinas?" she asked. 

"If you _insist_ ," Sibyl answered for her. 

"Did you name yourself after the Willy Wonka character or the rock band?" Tom asked. When they ignored him, he continued, "Ability?" 

She bit her lip and glanced between the two of them as if coming to a decision. 

"We can wait all day," Diana said. It shouldn't feel true. They had a thousand other things on their to-do list, but at just this moment, the quaint little hippie shop seemed like a perfectly reasonable place to avoid it all. 

"You feel calm," Veruca said. 

"Yes." 

"How about happy," Veruca said. Strangely, it didn't sound like a question. 

"Yes, actually, I'd say I'm fairly happy today." Diana glanced at Tom to see if he could see a point to this. He was still stupidly grinning at Sibyl. 

"Now sad." 

Diana saw Tom's face fall just as she felt her own stomach drop. She felt empty, horribly achingly sad. She missed Marco and suddenly worried that she'd made a mess of things during their drive to work. If there was one thing that Diana Skouris was excellent at, it was compartmentalizing. There was absolutely no reason for her to be thinking of Marco in the middle of an interview. Her eyes started to well up before she could even think of the words to ask what was happening. 

"And now let's just end back on calm and happy." 

Diana laughed as she blinked stray tears out of her eyes. "Wow, that's impressive." 

"I can do others. We've tested out a full range. I haven't been able to think of a use for the negative emotions. Maybe if someone were really repressing something, then being able to express anger in a therapy session might be helpful, but I generally try to avoid the bad stuff. Calm and happy are my favorites. The world is a much brighter place when everyone around you is calm and happy." 

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell us who reported us?" Sibyl asked. As Diana shook her head, she added, "We wouldn't hurt them. I'd just love it if Veruca could make them feel _really guilty_ about it for a few days." 

Diana was spared having to deny her again when the shop door opened with the sound of tinkling bells. "Hey, it's about time," Veruca said. "Come on in, we're all spilling our guts for amnesty." 

"I thought we agreed we weren't talking to the government," Sandra said, dropping her bag on the counter next to the shop's register with an unnecessary thunk. "They have no right to do this. The ACLU is going to get these kinds of discriminatory laws struck down. _Cooperating is condoning._ " 

"Look, you're already on our list," Tom pointed out. "Just give us an ability to write down and we're out of your hair." 

"She can talk to people long distance as if she were right in the same room with you," Sibyl said. 

"Sibyl!" Sandra snapped. 

"Cassandra, we're not doing anything wrong here. They shouldn't think we're hiding something. Don't turn this into a battle." 

Veruca took a slow steady breath and Sandra seemed to deflate along with her exhale. 

Sandra leaned against the counter. She was as far from Tom and Diana as she could get without leaving the small shop. "Don't think for a minute that I don't know you're manipulating me, Salinas." 

Sandra was not what Diana had expected though she couldn't have said exactly what she _had_ been expecting. 

She was at least a decade older than her partners but dressed younger. They were draped in long, flowing skirts and scarves like a cartoonish mix of TV-Gypsy and fashion-magazine-Bohemian. By contrast, Sandra wore tight hip-huggers cut indecently low, a wide expanse of flesh bulging over the top of her belt in a way that was both provocatively sexual and yet unattractive. Diana was going to be glad when that particular fashion trend finally passed on by. She couldn't entirely define the source of her disdain and she feared she might be channeling her grandmother again. _Young floozies these days._

Sandra's hair was an unnatural shade of red, blow-dried straight and clipped to frame her round face. No, on second thought, it wasn't the _shade_ that was unnatural, it was the flat monochrome of it—every strand of hair dyed the same precise color—that made it stand out as artificial. Her most dramatic feature, if you could tear your eyes away from her exposed midriff, were her eyes, highlighted with too much makeup. 

Diana reminded herself that she wasn't being very scientific. _Too much_ was a judgment not an observation. It was the voice of her grandmother again. Sandra clearly wasn't aiming for a natural look and she didn't work in a corporate world where she needed to aim for dull and professional either. _Sandra_ didn't need to wear blazers over sweater vests to be taken seriously alongside male colleagues. Rocker chick, Diana finally decided. That was Sandra's identity. A rebel. Cooperating with _The Man_ was not on her agenda even if she had nothing to hide. 

Diana reached over and closed Tom’s netbook. "Wait in the car, Tom." 

"But—" 

"Wait. In. The. Car." She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. A power position to make it clear who was in charge. It was all show for Sandra's benefit, but Diana found she was rather enjoying ordering men around lately. "Better yet, go get me lunch. I saw a sandwich shop around the corner. You can walk there. You know what I like." 

Maybe he understood what she was doing. Maybe he was just half stoned since no one had even tried to air the place out. He stood up without further protest and offered her the netbook. 

"Take it," she said, without even looking at him. "I don't need it. This is off the record." 

It was exactly the right move. As soon as Tom left, Sandra joined the other women in what Diana had pegged as the fortune-telling-nook. 

Sibyl made a pot of tea, heating up the tap-water using only her ability. Veruca had them all giggling as Diana told only mildly funny stories at Tom's expense. "…and because he had to tell the truth …" 

"Oh, no!" Sandra hooted in anticipation of the punchline. 

"'A couple of times when we were working late together,' he said," Diana scoffed. 

"Men!" Sibyl spat. 

Diana nodded, all the while thinking she was damn glad that April had never asked _her_ such a question in front of anyone. April had a way of pulling secrets out of you that you didn't even know you were keeping from yourself. 

With a sisterly bond formed, Sandra finally relented and demonstrated her ability, which oddly began with her walking out of the shop. 

"Why—?" Diana began, frowning at the door. 

"Why did I leave first?" Sandra asked from behind her. She strutted smugly into Diana's view. "Well, it wouldn't have been nearly as impressive if I just stayed here the whole time. And, no, before you ask, I can't teleport or anything like that, though I imagine that's a natural assumption." 

Diana hadn't assumed anything of the sort. The woman looked a bit like Sandra, enough that under other circumstances Diana's first thought would have been sister or niece. She was younger. Her body more toned. Her low-cut jeans flattered her hips, sensual curves instead of an unfortunate muffin-top. Her hair, while still every bit as vibrant, looked much more natural with all those variations in shade that constitute real hair. Her makeup in the same bold style now seemed more evocative of model or actress instead of _trying-too-hard_. 

Sandra waved her hands in front of her friends' faces and added, "They can't see me at all. I can only appear to one person at a time. I'm not really here. I'm actually sitting outside in my car right now." 

"Oh." This, Diana realized, was how Sandra saw herself. She didn't even seem to realize that she'd shaved off thirty pounds and fifteen years. "Okay. That's interesting. So your ability is basically to project yourself into someone else's mind." 

"Right," Sandra said, just as Veruca leaned toward Sibyl and whispered, "She must be doing it now." 

"As you can see, as abilities go, it's kind of lame. It's just like a virtual-reality phone call, right?" 

"Yeah," Diana said, but her mind was already whirring with follow-up questions. "But what about your perceptions?" 

"What about my perceptions?" 

"I'm seeing _you_ as if you were in the room, but what are you seeing?" 

"I'm seeing me as if I were in the room, too," she said with a shrug. 

"Are you imagining it from memory? If I went into a room you'd never seen before, would you be able to see it exactly as it really is?" 

"Well, yeah, but I can't just pop into any random stranger's head if that's what you're afraid of. I have to aim at someone specific, and even then I can't hide from them. It's not like I could ever spy on anyone. _I haven't done anything wrong._ " 

Outside Veruca's calming influence, Sandra looked agitated. She either had a guilty conscience about _something_ or she was merely paranoid, perhaps justifiably, that the government might snatch her up if it thought her powers were dangerous. Diana knew she wasn't going to get to the bottom of it today. 

"Well, thank you for your time, all of you. I'll have your amnesty status processed by the end of the week." 

She hesitated with her hand on the door. She shouldn't say anything. It wasn't any of her business. She just couldn't help it. "Look, Veronica, I'm not criticizing or anything, but _professional names_ merit a lot of thought and it's okay to change them if you find a better one." 

"Excuse me?" 

"It's just that _verruca plantaris_ is the name of lesions caused by certain strains of the human papillomavirus which present on the soles of the feet." All three women stared at her as if she'd just farted in church. "I just think you deserve a better name than that. Bye." 

♥… —… —…—…♥ 

"Diana, opinion. Should I tell the lesbian couple that Sibyl's children are at a high risk for heart disease or is this none-of-my-business territory?" Tom had mustard on his nose and Diana found it difficult to take him seriously. 

She instead asked her own question. "Should we put in a word to the local police about the pot? Why would they even smoke pot if Veronica can mellow everyone out at will? God, I was hungry. This is the best sandwich _ever_." Tom had at least gotten them some pretty awesome sandwiches. He wasn't entirely useless as a partner. 

"Oh, that wasn't them," Tom said. "After you kicked me out, I followed the vapor trail out back to their neighbor. He lives in the basement apartment underneath the laundromat next door, but his back window opens up right next to their A/C intake." Tom took another bite of his sandwich and got even more mustard on his nose. "He's a drummer," Tom added. 

Diana nodded to herself and pulled out her phone. 

"Aw, c'mon, Diana. Don't narc him out. He's cool. I explained about the vents. He promised to close that window from now on." 

"I'm calling Marco," she explained. 

"Okay. Why?" 

"Hey, Marco, it's Diana. Are you free? Great, because Tom and I could really use a designated driver." 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

For obvious reasons, Marco drove them back to Tom's place instead of back to NTAC. They all sat around Tom's dining table. Diana had given up and was typing all of that day's reports, but only because Tom had spent more time up close and personal with the drummer. 

"You're typing all of tomorrow's reports," she insisted, knowing she wouldn't actually hold him to it. 

"How'd ability-training go today?" Tom asked Marco. 

"There might be a warrant out for my arrest in Paris," Marco answered. "True story. Louvre security doesn't seem to appreciate it when you pop in after hours. Meghan promised to sort it out." 

"Meghan is awesome like that," Tom said. Diana spared him a brief glance. _How long does a contact high last?_

"So, yeah, there doesn't seem to be a distance limit to my teleportation. I _do_ require a very clear idea of where I'm going though. If I've never been there before, I need photographs or a precise location on a map. We tried just broad targets like 'southeast Asia' or 'any Italian vineyard' and more often than not, I'd end up on old film lots in California. Apparently, I don't have a terribly accurate idea of world geography." 

"Geography is important," Tom said. 

"Yeah." Marco looked at Diana with a questioning head-tilt in Tom’s direction. She shrugged. She was fairly sure he should be sobering up by now, but maybe Tom didn’t know that. 

"Food is also important," Tom said. "We should order delivery." 

"That's nice, Tom,” Marco said. “Washington tried to get me to do obstacles. I think the man might be certifiable." 

"Damn right. I'd say 5% chance his kid actually grows up to be a serial killer. That sounds low, but compared to the general population, it's pretty high." 

"We already know you can teleport in and out of buildings," Diana said, ignoring Tom. "What's the point of having you teleport beyond obstacles?" 

"No, not beyond, not through, _into_. He wanted me to try teleporting _into_ obstacles. Just, y'know, just so see what would happen. Who knows, I _might_ have some automatic survival system that would keep me from dying horribly if I teleported inside a solid block of granite or something." 

"I feel sick," Diana said, stopping in the middle of her report. 

Tom nodded. "I might have actually underestimated the odds of his kid being a serial killer." 

"He got Jed down to 1/32 and was trying to talk him into another split when Jed started hyperventilating. He told him that if he broke anything, Matt Carmichael could fix it, but even Carmichael said he doesn't know how his ability actually works yet. I'm trying to be objective about this, but I don't think the man has _any_ concern for the safety of his people." 

The side door opened with a bang and Kyle took several steps inside before he noticed them sitting at the table. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't think anyone would be home this time of day." 

"Why are _you_ here then?" Tom asked. 

"Your father was accidentally exposed to mood-altering chemicals today," Diana offered helpfully. "Take anything he says right now with a grain of salt." 

"Veruca Salt," Tom added with a giggle. 

"Also, don't let him tell you any jokes. _None_ of them are funny." 

"Yeah, okay. I just came by to pick up a few things that I'd left here.” Kyle suddenly leaned over Diana's shoulder to read the file she was working on. “Diana, what the hell?" 

"Hey, confidential NTAC stuff. Shoo!" 

Kyle ignored her and kept reading. "I know her! How is that—? That's not possible!" 

Diana looked from Kyle's face to the computer screen. She hadn't even finished filling out Sandra's form. An outdated driver's license photo was in the top left corner next to her name and address. 

Diana had only typed the first few sentences of the summary: "Sandra 'Cassandra' Dunleavy has the ability to project an idealized mental image of herself into the mind of targeted individuals. During this time, she can see, though not interact, with the environment around her target. She cannot hide her 'presence' and thus poses no apparent threat to privacy." 

"You know Sandra Dunleavy?" 

"I know _Cassie_ Dunleavy!" he shouted loudly enough to leave Diana’s ears ringing. Kyle's finger flitted across the address line on the screen before Diana could close the netbook. He slammed both fists on the table and wailed inarticulately. 

"Calm down, Kyle," Diana said. "Tell us what's wrong." God, the Baldwin men were so useless when they were upset. 

"Projecting herself into other people's minds? That's _her_ ability?! That lying bitch!" 

Kyle stormed out before they could get any more of an explanation out of him. 

"Tom." Diana was already grabbing her things. "He's got her address. She lives above the shop." 

"Marco," Tom said, tossing his car keys at him, "we're going to need you to drive again." 

♥…—…—…—…♥


	8. Diana Gets a Surprise

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Jed Garrity had arrived on the scene first following a phone call from Diana. He'd halved himself, trying to keep Kyle and Cassandra apart as they screamed at each other on the sidewalk in front of the _Peaceful Passion_ shop. The two half-weight Garrities were out-matched however and even Cassandra could shove him aside with little effort. 

As Marco pulled the car up, Kyle was screaming obscenities while Sibyl and Veronica huddled near the storefront entrance. 

"I have immunity!" Cassandra shouted. "I have amnesty! I didn't do anything wrong!" 

As soon as Diana got out of the car, Cassandra yelled to her, "Tell them! Tell them I have amnesty!" 

Tom shouted at Kyle to calm down which only added to the noise and chaos. Diana ignored Cassandra and approached Veronica instead. "Is there a mood for quiet?" 

"I'm trying, but they are all very insistent." 

"I can make tea," Sibyl suggested. 

"Tell them I have amnesty," Cassandra said again. "I can't be prosecuted for using my ability." 

"You can't be prosecuted for _having_ a registered ability," Marco explained. "That doesn't mean you're free to use your ability to break the law." 

"What law did I break? Tell me what law I broke and we'll talk." 

"I don't even know what's going on here," Marco said, his voice cracking in frustration. He turned towards Kyle and Tom. "Maybe _someone_ would like to explain." 

Kyle burst into tears and allowed Tom to pull him into a hug. "Everything was a lie," he sobbed into his father's shoulder as Tom's own eyes welled up. 

If the aching in her own heart didn't feel so familiar and suspiciously-timed, she might have thought the Baldwins were having an actual breakthrough in expressing their emotions. Instead, she wiped away a sniffle and told Veronica, "Well, I suppose that beats screaming." 

"Sorry. Everyone was pretty stuck on anger and I couldn't get them straight out of it. I thought sadness might shake them out of it." 

Diana nodded. "Smart. Okay, is everyone calm now?" 

There was a general murmur of agreement. Marco's big puppy eyes were watery, but the expression in them was now confusion instead of sadness. Diana was about to order everyone back to headquarters, but Jed beat her to it. 

"But I have amnesty," Cassandra said again quietly, although she got into the back of his car along with Veronica and Sibyl. Her tears had already smeared her eyeliner. 

As soon as Jed pulled away, Kyle shook off Veronica's influence. "She lied to me! That's fraud and… and lying! She could have killed you!" Kyle screamed at Tom. 

"Wait, what?" Marco stepped forward to interrupt when Tom only seemed capable of yelling in response. "Kyle, slow down a little. I'm inferring that Cassandra Dunleavy used her ability on you. How did that endanger Tom?" 

"She told me it was safe. It was destined. Dad was supposed to take the shot. He was _destined_ to have an ability. She said so! I thought she was real! I mean, _not_ real. I mean I thought my _ability_ was real, but, it was all a lie. I don't understand. How did she know about the book?" 

"Jesus." Tom slumped against the car as the realization hit him. 

Diana put it together quickly. "The question is, who was controlling her? Cassandra Dunleavy doesn't have visions of the future. Neither do her business partners. And she has no obvious motivation for using her ability to convince you that you're the shaman of the promicin movement. _Someone_ had to be behind it." 

"How is this possible? I took the shot. How can I not have an ability?" 

"Hang on." Diana grabbed the kit out of the car and handed Kyle a promicin tester. "Put this in your mouth for ten seconds." 

"That looks like a pregnancy test." 

"It's a promicin test." 

"Don't you pee on those? I'm not putting that in my mouth." 

"You don't pee on them. It's a saliva test. Just put it in your mouth, like a thermometer." 

Kyle pouted for the full ten seconds. When he handed it back to Diana, the test strip had turned a pale green. "It changed colors," Kyle said. "That means it's positive, right?" 

Diana shook her head. "That just means it's had enough time to react. Green, in this case, means promicin-negative." 

"But I took the shot," Kyle repeated. 

"Maybe it was a dud?" Tom suggested. 

Marco shook his head. "Other than Diana, I've never heard of an instance of promicin not producing an ability, and that was an early experimental version of the drug. Kyle, I'd like to take a blood sample and see what the lab says. The saliva test has been known to produce false negative results." 

"No, no. I am not going to go back and be NTAC's guinea pig again. No." 

Kyle got in his car and left, running away who knew where. Tom also left, perhaps wildly chasing after Kyle or perhaps he had an idea where Kyle might go or perhaps Tom was just running away to have his own private freakout somewhere. 

Diana only made a token effort to stop him from taking the car. “Tom, this is not an effective use of resources!” He probably didn’t even hear her. 

Stranded without a car, Marco left and then teleported back with a box full of crickets and, when that didn't impress Diana, he disappeared again and returned with a white rat in a cage. 

"I already called a cab. Thanks though." 

"But…" 

"Not ready to be your first human teleportation experiment, Marco." 

"I could go and get Brad. Brad'll try anything." 

Before she could say no, he vanished again, but the taxi arrived before he returned again. She called to let him know that she was on her way and that he should stay where he was. In the background, she heard Brad's raspy voice whine, "Aw, man, that's not fair. I wanted to teleport." 

The taxi ride gave her the time to organize her notes as well as her thoughts. Kyle Baldwin had been manipulated by Cassandra Dunleavy into believing that she was his ability. He'd made important decisions based on things she'd told him. More importantly, _Tom_ had made a critical life-or-death choice based on Kyle's assurance that he was destined to survive a promicin shot. 

Either Cassandra had gotten lucky or _someone_ had told her that Tom would survive the injection. But who? Someone with access to Dr. Burkhoff's research? The government? Jordon Collier? Someone from the future? Knowing Tom would survive was one thing, but without future knowledge, there would be no way to predict what kind of ability he would develop, so what's the motive? _Okay, so assume that someone from the future is behind this,_ Diana decided. _But why?_ Was it possible to use Tom's genetic foresight to manipulate future generations? 

Diana was still mulling this over when she got back to headquarters and walked head-first into the last person she wanted to see under any circumstances, now a weird metaphor for some of her recent musings. 

"Agent Skouris, perhaps you could shed some light on what my client is being charged with." 

Gregory Spencer was an Aryan poster boy come to life. The comparison hadn't occurred to her before, when all she had noticed was that he was tall and athletic, well-educated and well-dressed, with eyes she was embarrassed to have once considered dreamy and ridiculously perfect blond hair. She couldn't have put a name to the feeling she got seeing him here now. She didn't try. The moment he addressed her as "Agent Skouris" her defense shields all slammed up at maximum power and self-analysis was not going to keep them in place. 

"I don't believe she's been charged with anything yet. If I'm not mistaken, Agent Garrity took her in for questioning following a public disturbance earlier. You'll have to speak with him if you want more information than that, Mr. Spencer." 

She was proud of herself for keeping her voice level, for not spitting out _Mr._ Spencer as the insult she wished he might take it for. She was _not_ going to be petty. She was nonetheless relieved when he turned toward Agent Washington and April. 

"Miss Dunleavy is a private citizen. She cannot be interrogated by federal agents, particularly federal agents using coercive abilities, just on a charge of raising her voice in public." 

"This isn't a conversation for a hallway," Agent Washington responded coolly. "If you'll come with me." 

"With you, but not with _her_ ," the lawyer responded firmly, squinting at April. 

Washington nodded and walked away with Spencer on his heels. 

April made a point of catching Diana's eye. "Is that the skeevy lawyer you were telling me about?" 

"Yes. And stop that. That's the reason you're not being allowed to interview an important suspect. Subtlety, it's an idea you might want to look into." 

"I already interviewed the other two. I like them. They don't know anything. They're exactly what they look like." 

"Magic sparkle princesses?" Diana quipped. 

"Okay, _aside from all the bangles and glitter_ , they’re exactly what they look like. They developed their abilities during the outbreak and met through a survivor support group. As far as _they_ know, Cassandra is the same story, but considering she lawyered up the instant she was brought in, I have my doubts." April managed to make _lawyered_ sound like a profanity, which Diana appreciated. 

"Her ability definitely pre-dates the outbreak. We've got a witness to that effect. Or at least we _had_ a witness before he bolted on us." Diana rolled her eyes and grunted. "Seriously, if Kyle had just stuck around long enough to file a complaint, we might have some actual charges to hold her on. As it is…" 

Jed walked up to them with a smile that was half grimace. "Hey." 

"Hey." Diana glanced at the direction Washington and Spencer had gone. "I'd give anything to be a fly on that wall." 

“Which wall?” Jed asked. 

“Interrogation room,” April said. “They’re not letting me question Dunleavy and the Skouris sisters have never been known for our patience.” 

Jed nodded. "With any luck—nevermind." He cut himself off as another Jed returned from that very direction. "What have we got?" he asked the other Jed. 

The Jed on her right shrugged and said, "Pretty much nada. She's not even admitting that she knows Kyle Baldwin. She might or might not have met him at a party once." Jed Right nodded his head toward Diana and April and asked Jed Left, "So, did you ask them yet?" 

"No, I was just about to." 

"Ask us what?" 

"Do you have holiday plans yet? I was thinking I've always kind of wanted to do one of those big Norman Rockwell painting kind of Thanksgiving dinners. Last year, I just got drunk with Ashmore and watched football. This year, well I don't feel like just watching football alone." 

Diana felt like the reference to the late Agent Ashmore deserved a comment, but before she could think of anything to say, April chirped, "Well, it's not like you have to do anything _alone_ anymore." She punched Jed Right gently in the shoulder and smiled at him in a way that was probably perfectly innocent, but on April looked a tad lascivious. 

"That doesn't count," Jed Left said just as Jed Right said, "He's really boring." 

Diana laughed. "Sounds like fun. Do you want us to bring anything?" 

"Nah, I got it covered. I've invited the theory room as well. Everybody but Marco is coming." 

"No Marco?" Diana realized she sounded disappointed, which was silly. She saw the man every day at work. 

"He's got a big family thing that he's going to." 

"I'm in," April said. 

"Great," Jed Left said. "This will be awesome." And at some point in the middle of the sentence, there was only one Jed Garrity standing in front of Diana. 

"Great," she repeated, feeling disoriented but trying not to let it show. 

He was barely out of hearing range when April whispered, "I bet he's having sex with himself." 

Diana choked back a shocked laugh. "April!" 

"Oh, come on. All guys masturbate. Now that he can reach things he couldn't before? He's _totally_ doing it with himself." 

"Do _not ask_ him about that." 

"But I bet he is." 

"April. Dignity. Privacy. What is wrong with you?" 

"Me? What's wrong with you?" 

"I'm a bad mother. I can't keep a boyfriend. I've allowed my love of science to become derailed by bureaucratic trivialities. My sense of time is completely out of whack lately. And to top it all off, I'm not even sure I work for the good guys anymore. _Damn it, April!_ Stop doing that!" 

"Oh, my God, Diana." April just stared at her open-mouthed for a moment and then suddenly pulled her into a hug. "You're a person!" 

Diana frowned at her when her sister finally released her from the hug. "Of course I'm a person." 

"But you're a _real_ person, just like everybody else." 

"Thank you?" 

She heard Agent Washington's voice before she saw either of them. "Of course, we look forward to hearing what the judge has to say, Mr. Spencer. In the meantime, you can rest assured that we'll take the best care of your client." 

Watching Spencer and Washington attempt to out-manipulate each other made Diana physically nauseated. It was like a creepy Ken doll mating dance. 

"Mr. Spencer, can I ask you a question strictly off the record?" It caught his attention, but April didn't pause long enough for him to answer. "Why did you dump Diana?" 

"Because we'd already had sex. Continuing to date her would be a waste of time and effort that could be spent seducing a woman I haven't had sex with yet." 

"So, it's just a numbers game to you? The more women the better?" 

"Yeah." 

"Why? Who cares how many women you've had sex with?" 

"My racquetball partner Richard." 

"April, stop!" Diana was slightly mortified on Greg Spencer's behalf, which was saying something since she thought he was more of a jerk than ever. "What did I _just_ say about dignity and questions best left unasked?" 

Spencer looked more confused than offended. He bit his lip and walked away. 

"Skouris," Washington said with a sigh and Diana had to remind herself, yet again, that he wasn't talking to her. "Please don't piss off lawyers. They're like ants at my picnic." 

He walked off leaving the Skouris sisters to sort out the metaphor on their own. 

"Okay, I know it was wrong," April admitted, "but that was totally worth it, right?" 

"Made my day, actually." 

Diana's phone rang, which was a perfect distraction when she knew she _should_ be giving April a much-needed lecture on professionalism. 

"Diana." Marco's voice sounded anxious. Diana's stomach tightened. When the mellow guy sounded anxious, there was probably a good reason. "Are you almost back? I've got something you'll want to see down here. It's important." 

"I'm in the building. Be downstairs in five minutes." 

"Great. Is Tom back yet? This affects Kyle as well as you." 

Diana frowned. She had no idea what he could be worried about that affected her. "No, Tom's still off being Tom. I'll see if I can track him down." 

She waved vaguely to April as she dialed Tom's number. She was already walking briskly toward the elevators as Tom's phone was ringing. She was getting an increasingly bad feeling about this. She was unsurprised when her call clicked over to voicemail. 

"Tom, Marco's got something. He says it affects Kyle." She left out the _and me_. Until she had more information, there didn't seem to be any point. "Call me or, better yet, get back here." With a final disapproving huff at the elevator that still hadn't arrived, Diana headed for the stairs. 

In the theory room, the crew was huddled around Abigail's computer and they all startled slightly when Diana strode in. 

"Okay, what's up?" 

"First question," Marco said. " _Where_ were you in the building when I called you? Where were you _exactly_?" 

Slim, Abigail, and Brad were all staring at her now as if her answer was utterly fascinating. 

"I was upstairs, the hallway between the conference rooms and the offices." 

"Around the corner from the elevator?" Abigail asked. 

"Why does this matter?" 

"Because it's not physically possible for you to get here that quickly," Slim answered. "The elevator ride alone would take at least—" 

"The elevators are slow," Diana said, not sure exactly why she'd been in such a hurry that she couldn't wait for them. "I took the stairs. Marco, why did you call me? You said you had to show me something that affected both Kyle and me." 

"Kyle theoretically. Without a blood test, we can't be sure. But we were looking at your blood tests compared to others with known promicin exposure and Abigail spotted a pattern." 

"I know everyone says my ability is numbers," Abigail said, "but it's really more about patterns. Even complex patterns just sort of jump out at me." 

"Abigail is a total genius," Slim said. "It would have taken our computer algorithm days to work this out, if at all." 

"Cut to the chase, guys," Diana insisted. 

Marco pointed at Abigail who brought her data up on the big screen. "We wanted to compare blood tests versus saliva tests as well as comparing different modes of exposure. Original 4400s versus those who took the promicin shots versus those exposed during the outbreak. Blood test versus saliva test showed a strong correlation, stronger even than what the lab suggested we expect." 

"Making it unlikely that Kyle's saliva test was a false negative," Diana concluded. 

"Not necessarily. Because while we did find a strong match between tests, the data was very different on our different groups of people. Since you're basically a category unto yourself, I also asked NTAC medical for a copy of your most recent blood work." 

Diana cringed and Marco had the decency to look guilty. "Sorry. I wasn't actually expecting your recent blood work to be _that_ recent. On the plus side, clean bill of health. Um. Anyway." Intellectually, Diana understood that as the think-tank leader, Marco probably had higher clearance than she did. That didn't entirely curtail her annoyance that instead of NTAC medical, it was a co-worker—the co-worker she happened to be having sex with, no less—who delivered the news that her STD screening had come back clear. 

"Here's the thing," Marco continued. "The test results we've been looking at for 4400s are all from quarantine. Obviously, there's follow-up data, but a lot of that dates back to the inhibitor program which totally skews the data, and a significant number of 4400s dropped off the grid after that went public. So the cleanest, most consistent numbers are from quarantine so that's what we generally look at when we're looking up records." 

"This doesn't sound like the short version of this story, Marco." 

"We also have a number of files on P-positives who were known to have taken the shot during the early release of the drug, but again most of those date to shortly after the individuals in question took the shot and developed abilities, plus it's a very sketchy data pool. Only those whose abilities got out of control were likely to attract the attention of authorities so we don't know if the information they provide is statistically viable." 

Diana took a deep breath and willed herself not to interrupt. Geeks could be so slow when they were explaining something they thought was interesting. 

"Now the largest database we have is of those of us who were exposed to promicin during the outbreak and those results look like this." He pointed at the screen and Abigail clicked the next slide. 

"I assume you see something significant here," Diana said, trying to spot something amongst the scatter plots that had any meaning. "They all look pretty much the same." 

"Right. Data taken from the returnees shortly after their return matches data taken from illegal P-positives shortly after arrest which matches data taken from those most recently affected currently. That is, all the blood work taken from P-positives _within months of first exposure_ to promicin all look relatively the same. But if we expand the data we're looking at and re-order by the elapsed time between exposure and testing, and particularly if we compare the same individuals tested over time…" 

Abigail clicked through several more screens and turned to Diana in triumph, "See?" 

She did, but she couldn't quite believe it for a moment. "The longer it's been since exposure, the more likely the individual is to test as a false negative on a promicin test." 

"We don't even think it's a false negative, although if you're thinking of the test as an _ability_ test then, yes, it's going to falsely identify someone as not having an ability when they do have one. We've been testing for promicin itself, but it's looking like the promicin-producing phase is temporary." 

"Or!" Brad jumped into the conversation, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. "What I think might be the case is that these individuals are still producing the promicin neurotransmitter, but their bodies have also adapted to process it at ideal efficiency, meaning there is no _excess_ promicin free-floating in their bloodstreams to be picked up by our existing tests." 

"So Kyle Baldwin _does_ have an ability." 

"Probably." 

"Look." Abigail stood and pointed at what appeared to Diana to just be a random set of data points. "Everyone with an ability shows this pattern. It's hard to see definitively because it's buried in the background noise, but it's there." 

"The point is that Kyle Baldwin _might_ have an ability," Marco said clicking back to a previous screen. "But _you_ almost certainly do." 

♥…—…—…—…♥


	9. Diana Gets a Lecture

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Diana's laughter trailed off to awkward silence. They were serious. 

"That's not possible. Marco, you yourself said my early exposure to an experimental form of promicin is what made me immune to it. My body naturally produces ubiquinone and—" 

"I believe I said that I _thought_ your early exposure to promicin made you immune to it. I have, on very rare occasions, been known to be wrong." 

"It doesn't show up in the original returnees," Brad added. "We think the future’s method of activating abilities must be slightly different than our current technology. But we've identified several individuals known to have developed abilities before the outbreak, who now test negative for promicin but positive for ubiquinone." 

"It's like their bodies are converting excess promicin into ubiquinone," Slim suggested. 

Brad nodded excitedly. "Which could explain why ubiquinone works as an inhibitor. Ingesting supplemental ubiquinone signals to the body that the biological process is _complete_ , like birth control pills _preventing_ pregnancy by hormonally _mimicking_ it." 

"Maybe," Marco said. "That would, again, be jumping to conclusions, which is, admittedly, kind of our job description down here." 

"We're the _idea_ people," Brad said with a grin, "not the _work-out-the-practical-details_ people. We generally kind of suck at that part." 

"The point is," Abigail interrupted, "your blood work matches the pattern for an ability." 

"And what exactly is my ability supposed to be? Wouldn't you think I'd have noticed an ability by now." 

"Get this," Brad said. "You're not Wonder Woman. You're the Flash." 

"Or the rapey guy from _The Girl, The Gold Watch, and Everything_ ," Abigail added. 

"He wasn't rapey," Slim said. 

"He was totally rapey." 

"That book was written in 1962," Brad said. "Everybody was rapey." 

"That's no excuse." 

Diana felt like she should say something. A thought would half form in her head only to be replaced by the beginnings of a different half thought, leaving her to watch the conversation as a spectator at a three-way tennis match from the underwater seats and— _oh, look, what's that otter doing?_

"I didn't say it was an excuse," Brad said, his voice taking on a nearly adolescent whine whenever he raised his voice. "I'm just saying it's true. I, personally, agree he was rapey. Diana, do not use your powers to take advantage of women. I believe we've significantly evolved as a culture since the 1960s." 

"The TV movie was 1980," Slim pointed out. 

"How is that relevant?" 

"I'm just saying. Eighteen years from novel to TV movie and all the rapey bits were still in the TV movie." 

"So you admit it was rapey," Abigail said. 

"It was a little bit rapey," Slim admitted. 

"Cultural evolution is a slow process," Brad said. 

"Guys!" Marco snapped. "Focus! Diana does not have a gold watch." 

Abigail nodded. "Right. Diana obviously can't _stop_ time. She would have noticed by now. What I had suggested was that she can _bend_ time." 

"I can bend time?" Diana repeated blankly, still feeling like she was a few fathoms underwater. "What does that even mean?" 

"You're a Time Bender," Brad said. His voice was nearly a whisper of awe as he waggled his fingers wide. "Or the Flash. Both equally cool." 

Marco scratched his head and sighed. "Okay, for instance, when I called you, you said you'd be down here in five minutes. By your estimation, how long did it actually take you?" 

Diana shrugged. 

"Give me your best guess." 

She had called Tom and left a message; that would have taken no more than thirty seconds or so. Another half minute wasted waiting for the elevator. Maybe a minute spent taking the stairs. How much time did it take to walk down the hall? She shrugged again. "I wasn't really paying attention. Maybe three or four minutes give or take?" 

"Try eighteen Mississippis," Brad said, sounding oddly smug. 

Abigail rolled her eyes. "Sixteen point four seconds. You," she added pointing to Brad, "Mississippi too quickly." 

"I _told_ you that you Mississippi too quickly," Slim said. 

"Point being," Brad continued, unfazed by the criticism, "the elapsed time from the moment Marco hung up the phone to the moment you walked into the theory room was somewhere between 16.4 seconds and 18 Mississippis which means that you are the Flash. _Yo._ " 

Diana laughed again. "Seriously, I think I would have noticed if I've been running around like the Flash for over a year." 

"You don't run around like the Flash," Marco agreed. "It's more what Abigail said. You bend time. Specifically, you bend time around yourself and the people that you're with. Remember when you tried to kill us driving in to work this morning." 

"Why were you driving in to work together?" Abigail asked. 

"I told you," Brad said. "They're doing it." 

"They're not doing it," Slim told him. 

Diana and Marco shared a panicked look and Abigail made the obvious deduction. She blinked in momentary shock and then, to Diana's own surprise, Abigail clapped her hands together and hooted with laughter. 

"Oh, my God," she squealed. "You _are_ doing it!" 

"Ha!" Brad shouted, holding out both hands to his coworkers. "You both owe me twenty bucks!" 

Marco threw his hands in the air. He spun away and took several strides before switching directions and slowly walking back. Taking Diana by the shoulders, he steered her away from the others and they both tried to ignore the money changing hands nearby. "When we drove into work this morning, I thought traffic was crawling too. You were still freaking me out the way you were weaving between cars, but I'll admit that those cars appeared to be going very slowly. Except Abigail pulled up the actual traffic records for this morning and there was no slowdown at all. Traffic was flowing at ideal rates. Then I compared the time that I clocked in at security to when you picked me up and door-to-door we averaged ninety miles per hour." 

"Ninety miles per hour?" she repeated. "Marco, it was bumper to bumper traffic. The car never once got above forty, even in the diamond lane." 

"The car relative to our immediate surroundings never got above that speed, but I'm suggesting that _our immediate surroundings_ relative to the world as a whole was operating at a faster speed." 

"What?" 

"Diana Skouris, Time Bender." Diana glanced over at Brad who was looking quite pleased with himself. 

Slim nodded along with him. "It's actually got a nice ring to it." 

Abigail stood up shyly. "I'm actually the one who first suggested this. It occurred to me that as long as I've known you, you've been apologizing for being late when you're perfectly on time. At first, I assumed you were just a self-deprecating sort of person. Some people are like that; lead with an apology, y'know. But that's not you. And you're _always_ on time. We've even joked about it. Like punctuality is your superpower, only it looks like it really is." 

"If I have this fast-moving time bubble around me, wouldn't I always be early for things?" 

"I don't think it's a fast-moving time bubble," Marco said. "Obviously, we've got some experiments we'd like to run, but our basic Time Bender hypothesis is that you can shift time as needed. If you're in a hurry, outside time slows down allowing you to catch up. If you're waiting for something, outside time speeds up. Your personal perception of time stays constant, but there would obviously be moments where you feel a little out of sync so you lose track of time or you think you're running late when you're not." 

Diana pulled out her cell phone and pointed at the clock on Slim's computer. "These both have the same time. If I were bending time around me—" 

Marco interrupted her. "Your phone picks up the time via satellite. It'll go out of sync along with you, yes. But every few minutes it would reset to the correct time and unless you were staring at it when it happened, you'd likely never notice." 

"Especially if you're only slightly out of sync with exo-time," Brad said. 

"It was _my_ turn to name the next cool thing," Slim snapped. 

"You have a better suggestion than 'exo-time'? Let's hear it." 

"That's not the point." 

"Guys! Focus!" 

"We can test this," Abigail said, walking over to another table. "Acceleration formula, right? So we've set up these ramps. You put a ball bearing in the groove, it rolls down in a predictable time. Basic physics." 

Marco moved two of the ramps to opposite ends of the table. "The experiment is to release two ball bearings simultaneously, but see if you can make one of them travel more slowly than the other. Control test first?" 

It took them several attempts at a control run to time the release of the bearings to match, but soon enough they were fairly consistent. "Okay?" Marco said. "See if you can slow yours down this time. Three. Two. One." 

Diana had no idea how this was supposed to work. She just tried thinking _slow down_ repeatedly while the ball bearing rolled. As it hit the end of the ramp, she glanced up at Slim and his stopwatch. Slim jumped back with a squeak and then Marco's ball bearing rolled to the bottom of his ramp. 

"Okay," Marco said, blinking owlishly. "That was actually the complete opposite of what we were trying to do, but I'd still call that a result." 

"Sorry, I think I accidentally slowed down _exo-time_ instead of … oh, dear God. I actually have an ability." Diana sat down and put her head in her hands. "I think I need a minute." 

"We understand," Marco said. "Take all the time you need." 

"Technically," Brad added, "you can take all the time you need and we'd probably never notice." 

"Dude," Slim said, shaking his head, "not helping." 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Maia was sitting at the table doing her homework when Diana got home. She should probably make a point of praising her daughter for being responsible with her schoolwork without adult nagging. Instead, the first thing out of Diana's mouth was, "I suppose you knew about this?" 

Maia looked up and smiled. 

"Smug is not your best look, young lady." That wasn't true. Maia was adorable when she was smug. She nearly twinkled. 

"You've finally developed an ability, haven't you," Maia said and it clearly wasn't a question so much as a request for confirmation. 

"Oh, 'finally' isn't the word. This has apparently been going on for ages and I never noticed." 

Maia looked just perplexed enough that Diana was relieved. Her daughter was welcome to keep the odd prophecy or two to herself, but if she had been keeping current information about Diana a secret, particularly something this important, they would've needed to _have words_. 

"I can … do things to the passage of time," Diana explained. "I've been doing tests in the theory room." 

She almost added _that's why I'm late_ because they'd spent several hours beyond what should have been the end of her workday and all logic said that it should be quite late in the evening now. But those hours were subjective and less than half an hour had passed in objective universal time. Diana had finally put her foot down on _exo-time_ which had made Brad sulk for a moment, but after multiple attempts coordinated with some of their outside contacts, Diana had failed to affect the time stream beyond her immediate surroundings. If she could not alter _exo-time_ it didn't need a fancy name. 

"And without even trying," she continued, "it seems I'm living in my very own time-space continuum. Abigail and the guys think that I rarely get more than a few minutes out of sync in either direction and that it generally seems to even out by the end of the day. However, if I put my mind to it, it seems things can get pretty crazy." The craziest part was when they set up multiple ramps and despite her own insistence that this couldn't possibly work, Diana found she was able to simultaneously speed and slow multiple ball bearings at different rates. They'd promised to brainstorm for more experiments to try tomorrow. Diana felt a little ill at the idea. A scientist shouldn't be able to defy the laws of physics. It was unsettling. 

"So that means you have plenty of time to help me with my algebra?" Maia asked, batting her eyelashes in a way that wasn't even remotely subtle. 

"It's been a long day," Diana protested automatically. When Maia frowned, she added, "but I suppose there's no reason it can't be a bit longer." 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

In the middle of the night, the voice of vanity had whispered to her that if she kept slowing down time—or, technically, speeding her own time stream up in relation to objective time—that she would age faster than her contemporaries. She couldn't decide if she cared or, more to the point, if she _should_ care. Would it bother her to one day be sixty-four when the calendar said she was only sixty-two? She doubted that she could ever get much farther out of sync than that as long as it was just a few hours here or there. she began playing with numbers in her head, counting hours instead of sheep. If she averaged an extra hour a day, that was three-hundred-sixty-five hours per year, divided by twenty-four resulted in just over fifteen extra days a year, and even double or triple that seemed negligible. 

And she wouldn't always be adding minutes to her days. There were good excuses for subtracting them as well. She drifted back to sleep already half-dreaming of all the red-lights and elevator rides that she could fast-forward through. 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Diana made spinach omelets for breakfast—actual omelets, not scrambled eggs pretending to be omelets—and served them with asparagus. 

"You can't make me eat vegetables for breakfast," Maia said, a tinge of genuine fear in her voice. "It's un-American." 

"You can have corn flakes and cold burritos for the rest of the week for all I care," Diana said. "Today, we are celebrating the fact that I don't have to rush anymore." 

"And we're celebrating with _vegetables_?" 

"Yes. Eat." 

Diana was feeling smug. She wondered if she twinkled. She felt happy enough to be. Not just happy, but peaceful, calm, in control. She hadn't realized how out of kilter things had seemed until she finally had an explanation for it and now everything just felt right again all of a sudden. Also, there could be more sex. That hadn't even occurred to her until the middle of her morning shower when her thoughts drifted to Marco and the realization that they now had a lot more opportunities in the schedule for alone time together. 

♥…—…—…—…♥


	10. Diana Works a Case

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

The start of the work day saw a shifting of case files. The mundane interviews were being delegated down to the underlings and in their place the problem cases were bubbling up to the experienced field agents. 

Diana read the police report that Officer Matt Carmichael handed her with a growing queasiness and decided belatedly that she'd rather have her boring clerical work back. She would interview a dozen people about their ability to talk to spiders if she didn't have to deal with cases like this. Correction, if _no one_ had to deal with cases like this, if cases like this just didn't happen. But as long as they did, it was better she handle it than the original officer who had written this report. 

"This Officer Borden, you know him?" 

Carmichael shook his head. "Seattle PD is a big organization." He frowned and fidgeted slightly. He looked as if he thought he should apologize for something, but wasn't sure what. 

In many ways that summed up the best that you could say about law enforcement and sexual assault cases. It made women angry or frightened, and it made men—the good men at least—uncomfortable and apologetic. Reading between the lines, Officer Borden sounded neither uncomfortable nor apologetic. 

"I know it's traditional to blame the victim, but isn't that the defense attorney's job? Did the cop have to write it into the police report?" 

Carmichael frowned again, confusion knitting his dark brows. Diana steeled herself for the need to give the inevitable explanation— _feminist rant_ as it was likely to be dismissed—of how judgmental and offensive some of the phrasing in the report was. Instead, Carmichael cleared his throat and said, "Sometimes as police officers, we forget our job is just to take the report and make the arrest. We feel like we've won or lost depending on whether the perp actually gets convicted or not. This sort of thing has a low conviction rate, so some of us feel like we already know we're going to lose this one as soon as the assault call comes in. A case that's even a little bit iffy, or even _looks_ like the defense can make it sound iffy in court—you lose heart before you even begin. And some cops, yeah, they'll blame the victim for that. 'Why are you wasting my time with this?' We had training just last spring, but I don't think it did any good." 

_It never does_ , Diana thought to herself. Half the time, a sensitivity seminar only reinforced problem behavior as the jerks in the back row openly mocked the subject and complained about how political correctness was an affront to their right to be complete bastards. 

"Still no Kyle," Tom said as he walked up behind Carmichael. "Shawn _claims_ he hasn't seen him. Not sure I believe that though." 

"Forgive me if Kyle's hurt feelings aren't at the top of my priority list this morning." 

"Excuse me?" 

"They're cutting Dunleavy loose this afternoon if we don't have a concrete charge." 

"She just walks?" Tom asked. 

"There's a formal hearing scheduled the last Monday of the month," Carmichael added, "but if your son hasn't presented evidence by then, yeah, I imagine the whole thing will be dropped." 

Somewhere in the back of her brain, Diana realized that being annoyed at Kyle was her own version of blaming the victim for not being able to make a case and she bit back further thoughts on the Dunleavy situation. 

"I also have to re-file my ability report before I do anything else or Washington will come crashing down on my head. And, to top it all off, our first case of the day is a super-human serial rapist." 

"Ugh." Which, points to Tom, was exactly what Diana considered the correct way to respond to a serial rapist case. She handed him the report and waited somewhat anxiously for his response. She wanted to trust that Tom would read this the same way she did and not let Borden's biased report affect his view. "Why are you re-filing an ability report?" he asked before he even looked at the file. "Did they change the forms again?" 

"No, but when I first completed my own report, I said I didn't have an ability. That apparently was not correct." 

Carmichael shuffled awkwardly. "Should I … ?" he asked pointing off vaguely. 

"No, no, I'd like you to join us. We'll want someone with a police background on this. Come on, Tom, you can read the police report in the car." 

Diana filled Tom in as they walked to the car. Time bender, blah, blah, blah. He swore he never got her message, only a hang-up call from her which he'd dismissed as not important. He produced a voicemail that consisted of only a few seconds of a strange high-pitched trill and Diana had a feeling she knew what had happened. "Don't delete that message. Abigail and the guys will love analyzing it." 

She let Carmichael drive, getting into the backseat herself. She'd concentrated very hard on _not_ bending time on the way to work, but didn't trust herself while distracted. It was the edges where the various time-streams interacted that worried her. What if her power caused an accident with slow-moving objects suddenly slamming into something at fast-moving time? Brad and Slim were both convinced that there was some sort of built-in buffer that would prevent it. Abigail had tried to explain it using a metaphor about braiding and Borromean rings. Still, in the end, something that Diana had been doing subconsciously for ages seemed a bit tricky now. 

"The report isn't clear," Tom finally said after flipping through it and re-reading it several times. She kept leaning forward trying to see what page he was on. This would have been easier if he'd sat in the backseat next to her, but that would have left Carmichael alone in front playing chauffer which felt inappropriate somehow. "Do the women remember what happened to them? Were they aware of it at the time?" 

"They definitely remember. This," she passed forward her netbook with an older police report pulled up on the screen, "is the first report. This officer was less detailed, but that victim clearly mentions panicking when she realized she'd lost control." 

"Jesus." 

"And _that_ report," she said as she reached over his shoulder and pointed at another tab on the computer, "was taken in the hospital after the fifth victim attempted suicide. I think it's safe to say, these women were significantly traumatized." 

" _Fifth?_ How many have there been? Why wasn't he arrested sooner? His name is right here in the first report." 

"Sooner? Tom, he still hasn't been arrested _yet_. That's where we're going now and we're only bringing him in for questioning about an unreported ability." 

"Where's he been hiding?" 

Diana snorted. "In his dorm room? In class? At a lot of drinking parties, based on these police reports." She turned her head and stared out the window as the suburban landscape rolled by. Strip malls, burger joints, and car dealers. Half the businesses were boarded up, but the other half seemed to be doing fine. A handful had been renamed. They turned the corner just beyond Promise City Pizza. 

"No charges to date," Carmichael explained. "It wasn't until someone reported him for a suspected ability that anyone figured that there might be a real case against him. Too many witnesses backed up his version." 

" _Five_ victims?" Tom repeated. 

"Five _known_ victims who were willing to report him," Diana said, queasiness supplanting anger. 

"No one was putting the numbers together," Carmichael said. "Each report was looked into as a single incident. The system let everyone down on this. Until NTAC pulled his records, none of these reports were cross-referenced and no one seemed to notice that we had a serial offender on our hands." 

Tom huffed. "How is that even possible?" 

"Well," Diana said, "according to a follow-up complaint, the first reporting officer told the victim that if she didn't want to have sex that she shouldn't go to college parties. _And_ he filed the report away without even questioning the suspect." 

"Are we allowed to have _April_ question this guy?" 

"April can _question_ him, but it won't be admissible in court." 

Tom twisted around to look at Diana in the back seat. "Is that the only reason April hasn't questioned Dunleavy yet? If she's part of some kind of Marked conspiracy, getting to the truth is more important than getting a conviction." 

Diana shook her head, but inwardly she was pleased that she and Tom seemed to be back on the same page. There was no proof whatsoever that Cassandra Dunleavy had anything to do with the Marked, but that was Diana's gut feeling as well. 

"Dunleavy is off limits because she has her lawyer on speed dial. He'd filed an injunction before we could even think of what questions to ask." 

" _That's_ not suspicious at all," Tom scoffed. "She called from the car when Jed brought her in? What did Jed say she actually said to the lawyer?" 

"Ah, that's interesting. Jed said she called her mother and all she said was that she was in trouble. No specifics at all. Yet in the blink of an eye, she's got a lawyer who not only knows exactly where to find her, but he knows all about April's ability. Also, her mother died twelve years ago, so…." 

"So she called someone else and 'Mom, I'm in trouble' was code for 'it's hit the fan'. I suppose the lawyer is blocking her phone records as well." 

"One case at a time, guys," Carmichael said as he pulled up in front of a large run-down house. 

Tom and Diana got out of the car and surveyed the scene. There were broken bottles on the walkway to the house. A few unbroken bottles had somehow ended up on the roof. A moldy-looking sofa on the front porch was exposed to the elements and was possibly growing colonies of undiscovered life. It turned out to not be a dormitory after all, but there was no mistaking the ambiance. 

"I smell college boys," Tom said. 

Carmichael knocked with Tom and Diana flanking him on the porch. It was a significant wait for a reply from inside. Diana fought back the urge to fast-forward. It not only would mean she risked missing important clues, but subjectively fast-forwarding time meant objectively slowing down _herself_. This wasn't the place to leave herself vulnerable. 

"We're looking for Christopher Landry," Carmichael told the young man who finally staggered to the door. 

"Dudes, do you realize what time it is?" 

"NTAC," Tom said flashing his badge. "Christopher Landry, now." 

"Toe, you got visitors!" the man yelled back over his shoulder. Turning back to the agents, he slouched against the doorframe and added, "I don't think he's awake, to be honest. You should try, like, afternoon sometime." 

"NTAC doesn't schedule around college students," Diana said. 

"What's 'Intake'? Is that some kind of cult?" He turned and wandered back into the house, yelling up the stairs, "Toe! You got, like, Jehovah's Witnesses with badges down here." 

"N. T. A. C.," Carmichael said, "National Threat Assessment Command. We're a division of the Department of Homeland Security." 

"Chill, bro. Homeland Security? You think Topher's a terrorist?" 

Matthew Carmichael took a step forward well into the young man's personal space and squinted at him. Carmichael wasn't any taller than Tom, with an athletic yet slim build, but he wasn't above leveraging the tough-black-guy stereotype to his advantage. He dropped his voice menacingly and asked, "Do you know something we don't?" 

"What, no, I…" 

"I'm sorry, I didn't get your name." 

The young man turned and nearly ran up the stairs, "Christopher! Get down here!" 

Diana nodded in approval. "I like you, Carmichael." 

"Matt, please." 

The agents walked in the open door and glanced around. The inside of the house didn't really look any better than the outside. There were muffled sounds from upstairs, but no one came back down. 

A thin man with curly hair and the hint of a reddish beard poked his head out of a doorway at the opposite end of the living area. "Do you guys want coffee? I was about to make some for myself. It's just as easy to make a whole pot." 

When all three agents turned to look at him, he added. "My name's Lenny. I'm just the keyboardist. No terrorism, I swear. So. Coffee?" 

"Please, thank you," Diana said, crossing the room to stand in the kitchen doorway. "Keyboardist?" 

"In the band. We're a band. We _were_ a band. Our drummer said motorcycle helmets messed up his hair." 

"I have a bad feeling about how this story ends," Tom said. He walked by Diana into the kitchen and she and Matt followed. 

"He's not actually dead," Lenny said, "but, yeah, his hair's the least of his problems now. We still haven't found a replacement. You wouldn't think it would be that hard to find a guy with a sense of rhythm, but the last guy who showed up to audition didn't bring drums. He didn't even bring drum _sticks_." 

"I might actually know a guy," Tom said, leaning against the counter. 

"Yeah?" 

"So, Christopher Landry," Diana interrupted. "He's in your band?" 

"Topher? Naw, he's, I don't know." Lenny shrugged. "He pays rent." 

"How many people live here?" 

"Officially, meaning rent-paying, there are six of us. We've got a couple of hangers-on who come and go and toss in money for pizza and beer sometimes. Justin has a girlfriend but he refuses to let anyone charge her rent. He says one girl who stays all the time is equal to a different girl every night, which is how some of these guys play it." 

"Like Topher?" Diana asked, all too aware that her voice had a brittle edge to it. 

Lenny shrugged again and began rinsing out some dubious-looking mugs. "I was mainly thinking of Tony and Mike, but Topher gets more action than you'd expect for a dweeb. We don't really cross paths much. As you may have noticed, I'm pretty much the only morning person in the house. Although Stephanie might be up soon." 

"Justin's girlfriend?" 

"Yeah. But Topher doesn't usually crawl out to meet the sun until after I've left for work. I think his first class is at one p.m." 

"Keyboarding not paying the rent, then?" Tom asked. 

Lenny laughed as he poured them out coffee. "Not even when we were making gigs. My day job's at a hardware store." 

"Do you go to school with Topher?" Matt Carmichael asked. 

"Cream or sugar?" 

Matt fixed him with a pseudo-serious-looking scowl. "Black and beautiful as nature intended." 

"Ha. That is an awesome line," Lenny said, "which, unfortunately, I'm never going to be able to use." 

They all took their mugs and after a few moments, settled in at the kitchen table. Diana worried that she might look a touch paranoid, but she waited until Lenny took several swallows of his own coffee before she ventured her first sip. It was, she had to admit, pretty good coffee. 

Seeming to only just remember the question, Lenny added, "No, my college days are behind me." He glanced around at the dilapidated kitchen and the pile of bottles and assorted trash that was overflowing the garbage can. "Well, maybe not as far behind me as they should be." 

A young woman wandered into the kitchen wearing only an oversized T-shirt that wasn't quite oversize enough to hide her paisley panties when she leaned over to reach the bottom of the fridge. She was chugging juice from the bottle when she turned around and startled at the sight of the agents. "Oh, my God, when Nick said Homeland Security was downstairs I thought he was shitting me." 

"Is Christopher Landry actually here?" Tom asked. 

"Yeah," she said, pointing upstairs. "I should put on pants." 

"Why are you putting on pants for them when you never put on pants for me?" Lenny asked. 

"You're just _you_." 

"Are either of you aware of accusations implicating Christopher Landry in a series of sexual assaults?" 

"The dweeb?!" Lenny sputtered. 

Stephanie absently patted Lenny on the head. " _You're_ a dweeb. Don't judge." 

"Have you seen him? He couldn't overpower a little old lady. Nick told me Topher's ex went vengeful and filed some kind of complaint against him, but—" 

"Just so we're clear," Diana said, "Christopher Landry has been implicated as a serial rapist. Multiple incidents. Multiple victims." 

"Shit!" Stephanie said. "He drugged that girl! I told you! Remember?" 

"He didn't drug Tricia." Lenny shook his head, but he didn't sound entirely convinced himself. "She was fine." 

"On what planet was that 'fine'?" 

"Tricia?" Diana repeated, feeling her stomach sink. None of the known victims were named Tricia. This made it half a dozen. 

"A friend of a friend," Stephanie said. "I don't really know her, but she was here at a party once. All over Topher." 

"Who, for the record," Lenny said, "was the _least_ hot guy in this house that night." 

Stephanie rolled her eyes and continued. "But a few hours later, different story. She was really messed up. She said she thought someone slipped her something, because she said she had no idea why she would do any of the things that she did." 

Lenny quickly jumped in to clarify. "But by 'messed up,' Stephanie just means she was crying. She wasn't sick or anything. She never passed out. She was walking straight." 

Matt straightened his back and Diana could sense him shifting into cop-mode. "You understand that a person can be intoxicated, legally incapable of giving consent, well before they've reached the falling-down drunk stage, right?" 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I didn't mean that. I just mean that she _wasn't_. I mean, I don't think anybody drugged her." 

"I offered to call the cops if she really thought she'd been drugged," Stephanie said, "but then she just freaked out even more and said no, that she had to get home before her parents killed her." 

"How old is this girl?" 

"I don't know, but legal, I'm sure. Nineteen or twenty?" 

"Twenty-one," Lenny said suddenly and gave Stephanie a meaningful glare. "She said she was twenty-one." 

"Oh, right, right. She was definitely twenty-one. Everybody at the party was at least twenty-one." 

"Christopher Landry is nineteen," Matt pointed out. 

"Speaking of," Tom said, "since he's obviously not coming down, do you mind if we go up? If you'll just tell us which room is his." 

"I'll show you," Stephanie said. "Follow me." 

As they followed Stephanie up the stairs, they were all treated to a prime view of her rear end, but to Diana's relief, they made it to the top of the stairs without a single comment from either Tom or Matt. Stephanie banged on one of the doors, which resulted in a muffled, "Fuck off already, Nick!" from inside. 

Stephanie opened the door and announced, "Federal agents, dickhead. Your ass is going to jail." 

It was not the introduction Diana would have gone for, but it was just as well to bring him in now and do a proper interrogation back at headquarters. She nodded at Matt, who took the cue. 

"Christopher Landry, we're bringing you in on suspicion of using an unregistered ability to perpetrate a series of sexual assaults." 

The boy who sat bleary-eyed in the bed looked like no more than a child to Diana. If she didn't know the backstory, she might have used the word _harmless_. He blinked at them for a moment and then suddenly sprang out of the bed. Diana's perception of time was already slowing down even as he reached for the baseball bat. By the time the bat itself was swinging toward Tom's head, it was barely creeping through the air. 

"What the hell?" Tom and Matt both asked, voices overlapping. 

"Tom, step back. I don't think the kid can swing with enough force to really damage you, but it _will_ hurt if you don't move out of the way." 

Tom stepped back and then spun around entirely. Diana glanced around as well. Tom had almost certainly been inside one of her time dilations before. In hindsight, she was pretty sure they'd both been working a lot of undocumented overtime thanks to her without realizing it. But Tom had never seen anything quite like _this_ and even Diana still found herself a little impressed with what she could do when she really focused. 

Christopher Landry was still swinging his bat at where Tom's head had just been. Stephanie was jumping back in fright and for several long moments, she hovered in the air before her back foot slowly settled into the grungy carpet. Nick was only just looking into the doorway, his bland expression gradually shifting as his eyes widened and then closed again in a flinch. 

Matt also glanced around. "Wow." 

"Your ability is so much cooler than you made it sound," Tom said. 

"Uh-huh. Tom, just stand back almost where you were. Just make it look like you dodged. We don't want to show our hand, okay." 

"Okay." 

"Ready?" 

"Ready." 

Time re-synced and the bat whizzed past Tom's head with a few inches to spare. Landry blinked, but, undaunted, aimed again and took another swing. The bat slowed to near motionless mid-swing. Tom smirked and looked back at Diana. "This is so cool." 

"Tom, seriously, there is still a baseball bat aimed at your head." 

Tom stepped around it only to have Matt offer direction. "No, no, it'll just look like the bat went right through you. You should duck instead." 

Tom snapped his fingers. "Oh, that reminds me. You were going to type up your revised abilities report this morning." 

"Already done. Filed." 

"When?" 

"When do you think?" Diana stood up a little straighter. 

"Ah, man, that is so much better than gamete people." Tom looked genuinely wistful. 

"We need to talk about that, by the way. I've got a theory that I want to run by Abigail and the guys. In the meantime, avoid giving anyone procreation advice." 

"Okay, I'm ready for him this time," Tom said, hunching down under the swing of the bat. "Go." 

Before Christopher Landry could recover from the shock of missing Tom yet again, Tom spun him around with his arms pinned behind him. "And in addition to _that_ , you will now be charged with assaulting a federal officer. Which in this climate, Sparky, might just mean you've lost your right to remain silent." 

"How does the Miranda go under these circumstances?" Diana mused. "You may or may not have the right to remain silent. You may or may not have the right to an attorney." 

"You may or may not have the right to not be waterboarded," Tom added. "I don't know. I didn't read the memo this week." 

"Don't worry," Matt said, snapping on the handcuffs. "We'll look it up before we ask you any questions." 

♥…—…—…—…♥


	11. Diana Skouris, Action Hero

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Diana took a deep breath before pressing the button and then laughed at herself. _Seriously, Diana, get a grip._ With a shake of her head, she turned on the washing machine. She placed her hand on the lid and felt the machine speed up. _No,_ she reminded herself, _I'm slowing down. The machine isn't going faster._ Or maybe it was? It was all still rather confusing. Her actual ability seemed effortless. Finding the right words to _describe_ her ability was the hard part. 

Maia suddenly appeared at her left elbow and trilled something incomprehensible at her. 

"I'm sorry," Diana said. "Can you repeat that?" 

Maia rolled her eyes. "I asked you if you were going to just stand there staring at the washing machine all evening. It's creepy." 

"Yes, as a matter of fact, the plan is to stand here all evening staring at the washing machine." 

"Did I mention creepy?" Maia asked. 

"Uh-huh. You're creepy too, sweetie. I'm just joining your club." 

Maia walked out of the laundry room muttering, "Still creepy" under her breath. 

"Just holler if you need anything!" Diana called after her. 

She washed two loads of laundry in what felt like only a few minutes and was about to start a third when Maia pointed out how late it really was. She considered calling it a night when she remembered Abigail's theories about braiding time streams. _Mathematical Topology and Knot Theory_ had always given Diana a massive headache in college, but braiding sounded safely generic. If it could work for ball bearings, it ought to work for an entire washing machine. 

It did _not_ work. 

Fortunately, Diana had been watching closely enough to catch her error before it ended in disaster. She stopped the machine at the first wheezing chug as it ran dry. 

She _could_ warp time around just the machine without slowing herself down, but that didn't take into account the physics of the water flowing in and out of the machine. A closed system, she decided, was required for a time bubble and a washing machine was not a closed system. 

Perhaps it was safest to just adjust her own speed and not try to create time bubbles outside herself from now on. 

She re-started the machine, letting it run at normal speed, and went to join Maia for dinner. 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

The first thing on the day's official agenda was agent ability training. The first thing on the day's _un-official_ agenda was a brainstorming session with Marco and the gang. Diana wasn't exactly surprised when Meghan followed Tom into the theory room, but she found herself raising an eyebrow when Matt and Jed followed close on her heels. When April bounded in right behind them, she was speechless. 

"I brought donuts!" April chirped. "Also, Washington's expecting me upstairs in like five minutes, so, Diana, if you could do your thing." She made a dramatic sweeping motion with her hands in the air. The move unaccountably had a significant amount of hip action as well. "Y'know, so I'm not late." 

Diana rolled her eyes and mimicked the gesture, with possibly more hip action than was strictly necessary if the look Marco gave her was any indication. 

Meghan glanced dubiously at her watch. "Um?" 

"Your watch will continue to appear to be running normally," Marco said. "You'll need to re-set it when you exit the time bubble."

"I got this," Brad said and pulled up a live web camera image. "The view from the Space Needle. The time displayed at the bottom of the image should be unaffected by Diana." 

April started passing around the box of donuts and Diana tried to wrap her mind around the fact that they were now essentially having a secret meeting. 

"So," Meghan said, stepping forward, "Cassandra Dunleavy was released without any charges to bring against her. Kyle Baldwin is nowhere to be found. When he finally turns up, we can bring her back in, but she's got a legal team with some pull and they've made it clear they are prepared to raise a stink with a possible lawsuit for harassment if we don't have a _really_ good case against her. That means, officially, she's no longer our concern." 

Diana noted a few key phrases there. She already knew Greg Spencer worked for a high-priced firm, but _pull_ implied important connections beyond money. Money and connections were not things that Cassandra Dunleavy was presumed to have. Diana was smart, but she wasn't even close to being the smartest person in _this_ particular room, so she didn't feel the need to re-state the obvious. She certainly wasn't the only one who noticed the slight emphasis on _officially_ and the implied instruction Meghan had just given her team to keep working on it unofficially. 

"Well, Washington hasn't entirely written her off yet," April said. "I overheard him on the phone brainstorming with his team in D.C., but she's not at the top of his list. He's been reviewing tons of reports and he's found dozens of cases he seems to think are more interesting. He's got NTAC Medical on overtime trying to figure out _how_ Christopher Landry's ability works." 

Tom nodded curtly. "Okay, that's fair. I understand prioritizing a serial rapist over what might appear to be just a nuisance complaint, but—" 

"No, Tom, you don't understand,” April interrupted, crossing her arms in a pose that looked confident, but which Diana recognized as her sister’s classic defense stance. “Washington doesn't care what Christopher Landry or Cassandra Dunleavy have been charged with. He's not investigating _crimes_. He's investigating _abilities_." 

They all turned and stared at her as she continued. "Cassandra Dunleavy says she can appear to people without being physically present. It may have been enough to trick Kyle since it happened shortly after he injected promicin, but the odds of her tricking anyone else the same way are unlikely. Diana, you yourself wrote in the report that her ability didn't seem useful for spying. It's basically just a 3D phone call that only she can initiate. _Possibly_ useful, but not at the top of his list. Christopher Landry, on the other hand, can control other people's behavior against their will, which apparently has 'potential'." She made air-quotes around the last word. 

There was a moment's silence where Diana, for one, was too flustered to say anything and everyone else looked equally flummoxed. Finally, Jed muttered, "That's just not right," under his breath and Slim started typing at his computer. 

Diana glanced at the webcam on Brad’s monitor: 08:24:17. Only a handful of seconds had ticked by since he pulled up the camera. Her new-found ability had perks, but one unexpected drawback was that she could no longer use _I don't have time for this_ as an excuse to escape an awkward situation. Phrases like _We need to get moving_ and _We don't want to be late for training_ were on the tip of her tongue. It made her wonder how many times she had lied to herself throughout her life about the fact that there were just certain things she didn't want to deal with. 

She finally settled on, "Okay, definitely coming back to that, but perhaps we can wrap up some loose ends on Dunleavy before we get sidetracked." 

"Yeah, so, we've been talking about that," Marco said, with an awkward shuffling of his notes. He nodded at Tom and continued. "Based on what Tom's told us, Kyle believed that 'Cassie' was his ability, specifically a sort of shamanistic voice of truth and prophecy. Dunleavy was thus able to manipulate Kyle and, through him, possibly many others. Kyle is one of the few people with influence both at NTAC—" He winced somewhat apologetically in Tom's direction. "—and with Jordan Collier's people. It would make him an interesting target." 

"Target for whom?" Tom almost shouted. 

"The question of the hour," Marco agreed, unperturbed by the outburst. "Was Dunleavy working for the Marked or the creators of the original 4400 or some other faction we haven't encountered yet? Apparently, there was a prophetic book that backed up her claims so that suggests additional time meddling. Let's assume that it's someone in the future. To what purpose? One of the biggest effects is that—thanks in no small part to Dunleavy's influence—Tom now has an ability. Logically, if the scientists behind the original 4400 had wanted Tom Baldwin to have an ability, he would have been among those 4400." 

"My gut says Marked," Diana said. 

"But _why_?" Tom growled, clearly uncomfortable with being put in the spotlight. 

"The Marked get our top vote too," Brad said. 

Marco continued. "And if it's the Marked, that suggests they're hoping to use Tom's ability to manipulate the future counter to the original 4400 plan. Originally, we thought the 4400 had been given specific abilities for a purpose. However, based on our first-hand experience with promicin, we now think that the abilities are inherent to the individual, so it was the _selection_ of the individuals that allowed them to grant the abilities that they did." 

"Maybe in the future, they have tests for that and can determine ahead of time which ability will get activated?" Brad suggested. 

Tom shook his head. “Wait, so you’re saying that if Kyle had been taken as they originally planned, he wouldn’t have developed the same healing ability that Shawn has? He would have developed a different ability entirely?” 

"Right,” Marco said. 

“Which makes the question of what that ability _actually is_ doubly fascinating,” Brad added. 

Tom huffed “fascinating” under his breath and turned away. 

Brad didn’t seem to notice the interruption. “He ended up giving himself the shot, but the future had originally picked him out to be one of the chosen 4400. His ability _isn’t_ the Prophet Cassandra, so what _is_ it?” 

“Just one more thing to ask Kyle when we find him,” Tom said. 

Marco nodded and continued. “The conflict as we understand it—and admittedly some of this is based on Jordan Collier's information so take it for what it's worth—is that the original timeline in which the 4400 were never taken plays out as your worst-case social experiment scenario. The world is wracked by pollution and poverty and the kind of violence that goes with that kind of desperation. A handful of the elite have all the money, power, and comforts of future technology while the population at large backslides into squalor." 

"Basically _now_ , but on steroids," Slim said without looking up from his computer screen. 

"In the original timeline, abilities either evolve naturally over generations—" 

Abigail interrupted Marco with an apologetic wave. "Which would start out very rare and sporadic and unlikely to affect the population at large. The more likely scenario is that someone picked up on Kevin Burkhoff's unfinished research and developed promicin in a form possibly similar to what we have today." 

"Very likely with the same _risk_ that our modern version of promicin has," Marco said. "And if you think about it, who volunteers for a fifty-fifty shot at an ability versus death?” 

Diana stole a side glance at April, but her sister didn’t visibly react and Marco went on without noticing. 

“The same people who are doing so now," Marco continued. "The risk-takers, the disaffected, the poor, the sick, the desperate. People with nothing to lose. Definitely _not_ the healthy and wealthy and comfortable. Not the power elite." 

Diana began pacing as she joined in the discussion. "Resulting in a messy power shift. The peasants start to develop superpowers, but they aren't all helpful, most likely some are genuinely harmful. The elite feel threatened. We don't have to imagine the resulting paranoia and persecution of those with abilities. We’ve seen our share of that firsthand." 

"But we're associating the Marked with the future elite," Meghan said. "Why would the faction we assume doesn't have abilities want _Tom_ to have an ability?" 

"Just because they don't have abilities doesn't mean they aren't willing to use the abilities of others," Slim said and pointed absently to his computer screen before it absorbed his attention again. 

Diana frowned. As much as she didn't want to deal with it, they were going to have to get back to that other conversation eventually. 

Marco continued. "The 4400 faction, the outsiders, somehow found sympathizers within the scientific community, scientists with access to enough technology to make the 4400 possible, but perhaps with limited resources restricting the number of people they could take and transform. The Marked faction, the elite, fearing the loss of their power, have been trying to manipulate events in the opposite direction from the beginning." 

"What does this have to do with me?" Tom snapped. 

Brad shrugged and Slim piped up, "So, want to hear about the kind of potential the biochemists think our serial rapist has?" 

"No," Diana answered honestly, "but I'm going to grit my teeth and listen anyway." 

Slim nodded. "The first round of tests immediately isolated a compound in Landry's sweat that the lab has never seen before. Preliminary tests show the stuff is volatile; it evaporates almost immediately. No obvious effects on humans inhaling it in a sterile lab environment, but—" 

"They're huffing the stuff?" Abigail interrupted. "Isn't 'Don't inhale the chemicals' pretty much rule number one in the lab?" 

"Rule one was 'No eating in the lab,'" Brad answered automatically. "Or was that rule two? I think rule one was, 'Always read the MSDS first.'" 

"Except there's no material safety data sheet on an unidentified compound," Marco said. "Which, honestly, makes Abigail's point even more valid." 

"Which makes some of this particularly ominous," Slim said. "Apparently this was fast-tracked from up high. The lab is under orders to finish their analysis pretty much yesterday, with a follow-up directive to synthesize the compound if the initial results are promising." 

"Which brings us back to the question of what they mean by promising and potential," Tom said. "And can we possibly wrap this up before we're into overtime before our shift even begins?" 

"Yeah," Jed said, turning towards Meghan, "speaking of unpaid overtime—" 

"Not now, Jed." Meghan twirled her hand impatiently for Slim to continue. 

"No obvious effects on humans inhaling it in a sterile lab environment, but—" Slim paused and raised his eyebrow at Abigail to see if she planned to interrupt again. 

It was a mistake as Brad took the pause as an opportunity to educate everyone on laboratory rules. He paraphrased from the list he had found. "As posted in the employee manual, wearing eye protection is rule one. This is followed by long hair must be worn up, no sandals, familiarize yourself with and have immediate access to all material safety data sheets, always—" 

Meghan stepped into the center of the room and squared her shoulders. Her transformation into Director Doyle was subtle but undeniable. Even Brad went silent and sat up slightly straighter. "Miller, continue." 

Slim rolled his eyes at Brad. "—but when they applied the compound directly to a subject's skin—" 

Brad silently mouthed something at Abigail while holding up seven fingers. Diana wasn't a particularly skilled lip reader, but she was pretty sure it was something about which rule was violated by intentional skin exposure. 

"— _while_ in immediate proximity to _another_ subject close enough to breath in the compound as it evaporates… Boom. Subject #1 is suddenly irresistible to subject #2." 

"And this is their definition of having ‘potential’'?" Meghan asked with as much revulsion in her voice as Diana felt. 

"The next round of experiments is to see if it's limited to sexual attraction or if it can be used to bend another person's will in other matters as well." 

"And they're planning to synthesize this?" Jed wondered aloud. "Like _'Irresistible: The New Cologne For Date Rapists'_?" 

"I think this has been enough speculation for one morning," Meghan said. 

"Maybe it's for spies," Slim suggested. "You could make a bunch of James Bonds and they wouldn't even have to look good in a tux." 

"You're sick," Abigail said. 

"I didn't say I _approved_ ," Slim insisted. "I'm just saying. U.S. intelligence is trying to develop a powerful sex-control drug, what do _you_ think they're planning to use it for?" 

"I said _enough_ ," Meghan commanded firmly. "I will talk to Washington about this _officially_. In the meantime, you—" She pointed at Marco and then waved her finger to include the rest of the theory team. "—brainstorm as much as you want amongst _yourselves_ , but everyone else, I want you focusing on your own jobs." 

April was the first out the door with a bright, “Laters, y’all!” 

Abigail grabbed her purse. “Actually, Marco and I are on the schedule with you,” she told Diana. Diana had been under the impression that it was meant to be _agent_ training which wouldn’t explain Abigail’s presence, but she didn’t argue. 

“About the extra overtime,” Jed said as Meghan started to slip away. 

“Schedule an appointment with me, Jed. I can’t talk about this in an open meeting.” 

“You can’t keep assigning me to work as if I’m multiple people,” Jed said to her retreating figure. “Fine, an appointment,” he muttered. 

Diana felt sympathy for them both. She’d witnessed herself how badly Jed had been running himself ragged, but poor Meghan had been promoted to head Cat Wrangler in all the chaos and that couldn’t be easy either. 

As she walked out the door, she heard Brad’s unmistakable raspy voice suggest, “You should split off a spare and go get a massage or take a nap or something.” 

It was, in its own weird way, a brilliant idea and Diana suspected that it was not 100% of Jed Garrity who joined her in the elevator a few moments later. 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

It is an unfair fact of life that progress takes time, while the world can go to shit in a heartbeat. 

"I'm getting Abigail out of here!" Marco shouted at her. 

Diana nodded at him automatically, all the while thinking, _To hell with Abigail! I'm the one you're screwing! You're supposed to save me first!_

But Abigail looked terrified. Terrified and useless. Diana's body was buzzing with adrenaline and she was an agent. She was used to this. Life or death situations were part of the job description, not that she'd been warned she'd be facing them _today_ , let alone under the heading of _training_ , but Marco and Abigail had never, ever signed on for this and the sooner they got out of harm's way the better. 

“Go!” she shouted. 

Marco ducked across the alley and looped his arms around Abigail in a strange parody of a hug. The NTAC theorists then vanished in an eyeblink. More gunshots echoed down the alley, a ricochet chipping the brick wall not far from where Abigail had been cowering a moment before. 

Diana prepared to return fire, but couldn't identify a target. _Drug dealers_ , Diana thought to herself, fighting down an inappropriate urge to laugh. _Who the hell thought it was a good idea to send a handful of NTAC agents and a couple of **theorists** up against actual, honest-to-God drug dealers? A God-damned **army** of drug dealers, if the amount of gunfire was any indication._

"Carmichael, hold back," the voice in her ear commanded. The voice in her ear, Washington, _that_ was who thought _ability training_ was a good time to face off against actual criminals with actual guns. "Garrity Charlie, take point. Now, Garrity Charlie, move," the voice growled. 

Time slowed. Or Diana sped up. The latter was more likely, though it was harder to think of it that way. "I'm the Flash," she whispered to herself, not caring who heard her. She felt in need of the reassurance. This was wrong, all wrong, going more wrong by the millisecond and, ability or not, Diana felt powerless to control it. A single Jed Garrity was being ordered to the front, but she hadn't heard of another person being assigned to back him up. Was Jed supposed to back himself up? Was he thinking clearly enough for that? Could any of the Jed Garrities who had already splintered off—and she'd counted four so far—get there in time? Would they do so without a direct order? Could an already-diminished Garrity split off _even more_ of himself as spontaneous backups? 

"Go! Go! Go!" a booming voice from inside the warehouse screamed. "Go!" It wasn't a voice she recognized, but as slow and deep as it came to her ear, it could have been anyone. 

She walked slowly toward the voice, taking her time, calming herself. _No rush_ , she thought with a laugh. A warehouse door began to roll open. She let curiosity and impatience get the better of her and time effortlessly zipped forward and a car flew out of the building. She tamped the timestream back down and the car inched down the alley as trash cans flew in a strange slow-motion ballet. 

It could have been a scene from a movie. It was just missing the music. Also the mood lighting. These scenes always happened at night, didn't they? At the very least the alley should be in shadows. But the east-facing alley was getting the full morning sunlight in open defiance of Diana's cinematic expectations. What were drug dealers even doing _awake_ at this hour? 

She still had her messenger bag slung across her chest bandolier style, the netbook and steno pad needlessly weighing her down. She had thought this was going to be the kind of training where she'd be taking notes. 

Diana felt absurd as she climbed up and over the hood of the car. With less than a foot to spare on either side of the vehicle, she realized she would have been killed or at least horribly injured if not for her ability. She was nonetheless powerless to _stop_ the car. Clambering back off the rear of the vehicle, she realized she had a clear shot now. She could plug the driver right through the back of the head and yet she couldn't bring herself to do it. Shooting them like fish in a barrel seemed wrong. Instead, she carefully blew out both rear tires and hoped that would slow them down enough for a non-lethal capture. 

A weird keening sound caught her attention. Deep and low as all sounds seemed in this state, yet it conveyed a feeling of urgency. She turned and ran into the warehouse, nearly dashing head first into a bullet that flew lazily through the air. It was an interesting theoretical question; what would have happened if she _had_ run into it? Her subjective momentum suggested it should be like bumping into a horsefly. External reality suggested it would be exactly like being hit by a high-speed bullet while herself traveling at super speed. She was _not_ keen on being the guinea pig who found out the answer for sure. 

She dodged and slipped around the bullet, her eyes riveted on the body that lay heaped on the floor ahead of her. Jed. One of him anyway. A second Jed Garrity was kneeling over the body. It was the second Jed that was deeply wailing, "Nnnnnnooooooo!" 

Behind him, the gunman readied for another shot. 

Diana sprang forward. _I am the motherfucking Flash!_ she chanted to herself. 

She got him. She snatched the gun from his hand before he could fire again. She manhandled him to his knees—unresisting, probably confused as to what was even happening to him—and had a zip tie on the perp’s wrists before he knew she was there. 

The only advantage her ability afforded her now was time to catch her breath, time to collect her thoughts. _Man down,_ she thought, but she couldn’t report it without resynchronizing with the time stream. _Tom, where the hell are you?_ she thought, but she couldn’t ask that either. “Is he okay?” she tried to ask Jed, but he didn’t acknowledge that he even heard her. 

Diana took a deep breath. _Seriously, Diana, get a grip._ She almost laughed, but it came out a choked huff. _And I thought the washing machine was intimidating?_

She took one final look around, making sure there was nothing left that she could do before calling for help and was surprised to see Marco standing in the doorway. 

_Why did you come back?_ she thought. Marco had been safely away with Abigail and, as sweet as the thought was, he shouldn’t have come back, not for Diana, not for anyone. Her thoughts were stuck in a loop. He didn’t sign on for this. Not in the job description. He shouldn’t have been there in the first place. 

Marco was just standing there, eyes unfocused, face slowly contorting into an expression that it took Diana a moment to recognize as a grimace. That’s when she realized that he was standing just where she’d been when she dodged that stray bullet, the bullet that wasn’t there anymore. There wasn’t so much as a drop of blood. 

Yet. 

Diana rushed to him. The busy pattern of his shirt—a sixties throwback of paisley and acid-trip—camouflaged the entry wound. It took a lifetime to find the small damp hole high in his chest. _It might have missed his heart,_ she lied to herself. _It could have just missed his heart,_ her mind repeated stubbornly. 

She pressed her hands tightly over the wound. _Re-join the time stream, call for help, slow Marco back down before he bleeds out. Simple. Got it. Diana Skouris, Time Bender. I can do this._

Time resumed normally with a sickening crash. The sound of Marco’s breath shocked out of him by the bullet’s impact… the vaguely wet sound of the exit wound tearing open through his spinal column… the smash of the bullet finally stopping in the brick wall outside the door… Marco tumbling backward away from Diana’s attempt to staunch the bleeding. 

Exit wound. Fucking exit wound. The bullet had still been inside him. Had still been moving. Hadn’t even done the worst damage yet. And now it had and there was nothing, fucking nothing at all, that Diana could do about it. She was only barely able to keep him from hitting the concrete floor, easing him down awkwardly, half tripping as his weight pulled her down. 

“Men down!” she screamed into the radio. “Gunshots victims! Two agents down!” _One agent, one theorist, technically. Maybe one theorist and one-fourth of an agent? Screw it. Marco was here for NTAC. He counted._ “Two agents down!” she repeated. 

She untangled herself from Marco’s limp body—suspended in time, barely bleeding, dying as slowly as Diana could manage it, but dying undeniably all the same. 

♥…—…—…—…♥


	12. Diana Deals With Some Shit

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

It took Diana too long to realize she wasn't helping at all. Marco was bleeding out imperceptibly slowly, but the sirens in the distance where howling deep and slow. The emergency vehicles were driving in molasses. 

She hadn't slowed down Marco's death at all. She'd only sped herself up, given herself time to watch every excruciating detail. 

She needed to pull Marco into her own timestream and she needed to slow them both down, speed up the outside world with the ambulances. 

Even as she thought it, Jed seemed to slow down to a statue frozen in time. 

_Wrong way!_ she screamed at herself. She kept getting her ability wrong, Speeding herself up when it was the rest of the world she wanted to go faster. She needed to slow down even as every pulse of adrenaline screamed _Faster! Faster! Faster!_

She lay her hands on Marco's chest. The physical contact was unnecessary, but it grounded her. _Slow,_ she told herself. _We have to slow down_. 

Their speeds synced and Marco's eyes focused on her. His lips moved but only a pink foam came from his lips. _The bullet went through his lungs._

"It's going to be okay," she lied. "Help is on the way. They'll be here any second. You just hang in there." 

Marco closed his eyes and that was when Diana finally let herself cry. 

She hadn't been lying about help. The ambulance crew was there in the blink of an eye, buzzing in super speed around Marco and Jed and Diana herself. Lights flickered in her eyes as med techs no doubt marveled at how slowly her pupils dilated. 

A fly was buzzing her name in her ear. "Diana! Diana! Diana!" it squeaked. 

A blur held still just long enough for her to recognize Jed. She felt herself lifted, almost flying back as a Garrity on either side pulled her off of Marco. 

She tried to slow Jed down so she could recognize more of his words than just a squeaky approximation of her name, but he only blurred faster. 

_Fuck!_ She was still getting it wrong. Doing it all backward. It had been so easy when she hadn't been trying. Her ability had been almost instinctual then. Now she was overthinking everything and couldn't keep it under control at all. 

She sped up. Just a little. Not quite in sync with Jed, but close enough to understand him. Paramedics were swarming over Marco, but Garrity Charlie had a sheet over his still body. 

"Diana, you have to let him go," Jed said in her ear, too fast, too high-pitched, tears pouring down his face in double-speed. She wasn't holding Marco, she tried to tell Jed that, but her head was buzzing. Was there something wrong with her ability? Could she not maintain it this long under stress? Or was she just in shock? 

"Diana, Matt can't help him if you don't return him to our timestream." 

_Matt?_ she wondered idly and then realization hit. "Matt! Matt! You have to save him!" 

Matt Carmichael was already kneeling over Marco as Diana snapped back into the proper timestream. 

"I'm trying!" Matt said, "I've never had a case this bad before! I don't even know how my ability works!" 

And if _that_ weren't the mantra of the day. They all needed practice and training in a _safe_ environment, not some insane field test with live ammo and real criminals. 

"I'm going to fucking kill Washington," Diana spat under her breath. 

"The line starts behind all of me," Jed said. 

"All but one of me," another Jed added in a choked whisper. 

She wanted to offer sympathy to Jed in his collective existential crisis. But Jed, as she knew him, was still here while Marco— 

"Did I just die?" Marco asked, running his hand over the place where there was no longer a hole in his chest. 

"No," Matt said. "If you'd been dead, I don't think I would have been able to save you." 

Matt nodded at Garrity's body as proof. 

Marco sat up and scrambled back from the body. "Jesus!" 

Diana laughed and then buried her face in her hands and tried to pass it off as a sob. Jed wouldn't appreciate the adrenaline rush that made Marco's resurrection funny. 

Marco was alive and apparently _fine_ and she just wanted to hug the stuffing out of him, but Garrity was gathering around his body and it wasn't the time. 

"Are you sure he's…?" 

"There's not even a spark of life there," Matt said. "I already tried." 

"Can you reintegrate?" she asked Jed. The thought was gruesome. A body started to decay immediately if imperceptibly at first. To reintegrate with dead matter couldn't be even a little bit healthy. "Reintegrate your memories at least?" 

Jed shook his head. "I don't even know…" 

"…how my ability works," Diana agreed. "So sings the chorus. A-fucking-men." 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Marco was probably the only one who didn't try to use his ability on the ride back to NTAC medical. Diana wouldn't have blamed him if he'd been tempted though. He certainly could have just teleported back on his own and avoided the awkward silence in the back of the transport van. 

Despite declaring that he couldn't regenerate a corpse, Matt occasionally unzipped the body bag and touched the body, a strained look on his face. Jed did the same more than once. One man trying to restore life, another at least trying to reabsorb its essence, whatever that actually meant. Diana tried thinking backward thoughts, but her time bending skills seemed to work in only one direction, which was really for the best. They had an overabundance of people trying to meddle with the past as it was. 

One Garrity sat to the side, not making eye contact with anyone else in the van, not even his other selves, just staring at his fingers. He was still wearing a nametag that said _Echo_ which struck Diana as nearly poetic. 

"There were five of you?" she asked. Garrity Charlie had been the one to die. She wasn't sure it mattered. They were all the same person. _Alfa, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo_ just names they'd been assigned that afternoon so that Washington could yell suicidal orders to designated Garrities. 

There were only three of them now, counting the body—and then four, five, then three again. Never less than three because he couldn't reintegrate with the corpse and Echo was very clear that the other Garrities should "Fuck off!" whenever they got too close. She knew different people processed grief differently, but it was slightly odd watching the same person process grief differently. 

A sixth Garrity appeared out of the corner of her eye and said, "Alfa through Papa." 

"Papa?" she repeated. She was too tired to think clearly and had to count her way up the alphabet. "Sixteen?" 

Marco squirmed uncomfortably at her side, picking at the bloody bullet hole in his shirt. "Can you _not_ do that?" he finally snapped at Jed who was just four people after a brief burst of eight. "Three, sixteen, I don't care. Just pick a number until the van stops moving. You're making me car sick." 

Diana tried to run a comforting hand down Marco's back, but he flinched when her hand hit bare skin where the exit wound had torn an even larger bullet hole in his shirt. 

"Sorry," Jed said, just two people again. He'd lost his nametag somewhere. 

"Sorry," Marco echoed almost immediately. "However shitty a day I think I've had, you've had worse." 

"Seventeen," Echo said, finally looking up. "Sixteen participating in the exercise. One back at the base as the spare." 

Tagless Jed winced. "Can we not call him 'the spare'?" 

"Look me in the eye and tell me that's not what you're doing right now!" 

Tagless Jed split in two even as he winced again. 

"You're making spares to increase the odds of one of us surviving if the van is hit by a meteor or whatever and then you're panicking about losing memories and reintegrating every twelve seconds." 

Jed's hand twitched in Echo's direction, but he jerked away and said, "Fuck. Off." 

There was no anger in the words this time at least. He'd reached the tired stage of grief. Was that one of the official stages? Diana didn't think so, but she thought it should be. There was a subtle difference between _acceptance_ and _three fucks left so I can't spare one at the moment_. 

Marco nudged Diana in the side and rolled his eyes in the direction of the body. She had no idea what he was hinting at, but in the next moment Echo spoke up again. 

"Okay, is it just me or is that starting to smell already?" he asked, indicating the body bag. "It shouldn't smell already, should it?" 

Diana was already headachy and nauseated from the events of the day and hadn't considered another cause, but now that he mentioned it, there was a hint of a sickly odor in the back of the van. It was faint enough that she could think she was imagining it, but on the other hand, if she'd slowly grown accustomed to it, the real smell could be even worse than what she was sensing. 

Jed leaned over for a closer look and then immediately shrank back. "Dude, stop it!" he snapped at Matt. "You're making it worse." 

"Worse?" Diana repeated. Was there worse than dead? 

Matt backed away in defeat as Jed leaned back in to zip the bag closed. 

"I think he's just healing the bacteria and mold at this point," Jed said. 

"Ah." It made perfect sense really. There was no reason to imagine his ability was limited to humans. 

_"Bacteria?"_ Marco asked, squirming in his seat even more and tugging awkwardly at the crotch of his pants. "You regenerated my bacteria too? Oh, God, first dibs on the decontamination shower!" 

"Marco, you're a smart man," Diana said. "Don't make me lecture you about the number of bacteria in a healthy human. I'm sure you're fine." 

"I swear I can feel it, like _on_ my skin. It's—" 

"We'll run tests. It's okay. Everyone is getting tested for everything." The transport van slowed and turned. The unbearable van ride was nearly at an end. "The one good thing to come out of this shit show is that there will be more data to analyze than the theory room can handle." 

"Good thing?" Jed repeated. He shifted as the van sloped downward. Even without a view, Diana knew they were now inside the underground parking garage. "Well, as long as you get your data, who cares that a man died, right?" 

"She means," Echo said, "that as long as only one of us dies, it's no big deal. We're expendable. The expendability is built right in." 

"That's not what I meant," Diana said. "I was very clear on the _shit show_ part. Please don't—" She finished the sentence, "put words in my mouth," but she didn't think anyone heard as the doors banged open.  

Marco wanted to see a doctor immediately. Diana wanted to make sure the coroner-team made a note of Garrity Charlie's advanced decomposition and take samples of bacterial growths. Jed demanded he be acknowledged as next of kin. The receiving team wanted to debrief them all. It was all happening in the parking garage simultaneously and seventeen seconds later a second van pulled in with another group of freaked-out trainees, none of whom were injured but who brought another wave of chaos. "Were those real guns? I heard a guy got shot! Oh, crap is that a body!" 

Garrity Echo threw up his hands and announced, "Somebody's gotta go tell the Spare. You deal with this mess." 

The third van was rolling in. Not a transport van, this one was the rolling command center, full of surveillance and communications equipment. Washington would be stepping out of it in a moment. She wasn't sure what she would do if she had to see his face. 

Diana wasn't proud of herself—it felt like cheating for some reason—but she slowed time to a crawl so she could take a few moments for herself in peace and quiet. _I should take up meditation,_ she thought. _I always said I would if I ever had the time._  

She stood up straight and took a deep breath. That's how meditation worked, wasn't it? You didn't have to be sitting, did you? Screw it. Good enough for now. 

She pulled out her netbook and glanced around for a convenient place to type, at first thinking to just find a step or curb to sit on while she typed a quick note. As a field agent, Diana didn't normally have access to this garage. This was for ambulances and prison transports and _officially_ -official vehicles. She glanced to her left as she passed a sports car that didn't fit the description. A plaque on the wall above it declared it reserved for Director Washington. _**Director** now, was he?_ Another part of her brain filled in _Reserved Asshole Parking_ and she felt a new wave of resolve.  

So instead of typing up a quick note in the parking lot, she made for the stairs. She needed a desk for this. 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

She typed the report at Jed's desk, which was perhaps fitting. Or perhaps it was presumptive and inappropriate, but she didn't feel like huddling in her cubbie with a netbook. Jed had two full-sized desks each with full-sized keyboards. 

First the notes to the medical team, typed up, re-read, edited. Concise bullet points, no tangents to distract them, just the key pieces of data she needed them to test both Garrity and Marco for. All ready to send the instant she re-synced with exo-time.  

Then the reports. A massive brain dump of every relevant piece of information before she could forget it. 

And then the handwritten notes. The things she wasn't prepared to enter into the system. Things she wanted to follow up on before she shared with anyone. 

She kept glancing at the clock across the office. The second hand seemed frozen, but it was always a little bit farther along than the last time she checked.  

Several hours after she started—or three minutes, depending how you counted—she decided that she'd done all she could. Deep breath. Re-sync. She hit send on the email to medical. Clicked save on the reports. 

She walked out of the office and ran head first into Tom. 

"Diana! Are you okay? I heard someone was shot." 

"Where the hell were you?" she snapped. "Why did _you_ get to skip training?" 

"I got stuck doing case interviews with Meghan. Apparently, walking-eugenics-machine and lady-who-makes-flowers aren't considered important enough abilities to merit more training." 

Diana huffed and turned on her heel. She wasn't even sure where she was going. Marco. She wanted to talk to Marco. Would he have gone to medical for an exam first or gone to the theory room to do his own brain dump on Brad and Slim and Abigail? 

"Hey!" Tom called, following after her. "What happened?" 

"Marco and Jed were shot," Diana said, pausing at the elevator. Tom blinked and before he could ask she continued. "Marco… _got better_. Jed—" 

The elevator door opened and Jed stepped out. 

"Also got better?" Tom said. 

Jed glared at them and walked by without a word. 

Diana shook her head and tugged Tom into the elevator. She waited for the elevator doors to close before she explained. 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

There were two Garrities in the theory room. One of them was wearing indecently tight stretch pants and a faded T-shirt with a mock University logo declaring him an alumnus of Psychotic State. Most incongruously, he was sitting on Brad's shoulders reaching up to the light fixture in the ceiling. 

The second Garrity was leaning against the wall near the entrance watching. 

"I still can't reach," piggyback-Jed said. 

"You're going to have to stand up," Slim suggested. 

Diana realized Slim was standing by with a fluorescent tube. The answer to _How many NTAC theorists does it take to change a lightbulb?_ was apparently _Two plus a fraction of an agent_. 

"I haven't told him yet," Jed said quietly.  

"Hang on," Brad said and with no obvious effort lifted Jed up so that he could plant his feet squarely on Brad's shoulders. Brad steadied him with nothing more than his hands on Jed's knees as Slim passed up the fluorescent light. 

"It's been flickering and giving me a headache," Brad explained. "Maintenance won't do anything because they insist nothing's wrong with it, but I can like feel it in my brain." 

"Overexplaining again," Slim muttered. 

"Right. Right. Voices in my head stay _inside_ my head," Brad said. 

"Bold fashion choice," Tom said, nodding at Jed's casual clothing. 

"My shirt," Brad said as if they couldn't guess. "I always keep an extra change of clothes in my desk for emergencies." 

Diana wanted to ask what kind of emergency was likely to come up in the theory room that required extra clothes, but Tom's question had already led them off-topic. 

Slim seemed to read her mind anyway. "Sometimes an all-nighter turns into a two-nighter and Brad gets ripe pretty quick. His jeans were too big though so we had to borrow a pair of Abigail's yoga pants from her workout bag." 

"I'm glad you made yourself comfy while we were out in the field," Jed snapped. He'd pulled off his name badge in the meantime, but Diana suspected that _Echo_ hadn't reintegrated with any of the other Garrities yet. Was he the same Garrity she'd found howling over his own body? Or was that the Garrity who kept splitting and reintegrating compulsively? 

Comfy-Jed climbed down off of Brad and laughed. "Dude, I ripped my pants in the first five minutes. The weird thing is we did that scratch test you suggested," he said nodding at Diana, "and I don't seem any more susceptible to injury than anyone else, but I still can't maintain the structural integrity of inanimate objects when I split. You're looking a little ratty around the edges there yourself."  

He walked over and playfully tugged at the other Garrity's sleeve where it was pulling away at the seam. 

"Sorry," he answered dryly, "running around getting shot at plays hell with the wardrobe." 

"Shot at?" 

"Out 'training exercise' turned out not to be a training exercise after all," Diana began. Before she could explain further, Abigail walked in. 

"Oh, God, I just heard. That must have been so awful." Abigail hugged the first Garrity she came to near the door, his shirt sleeve coming fully detached from the shoulder in the process. 

"What's going on?" Brad asked. "They said people were shooting at you during training? You mean like paintball?" 

"No! They were trying to kill us!" Abigail squeaked, waving a bandaged finger as if her single boo-boo was anything compared to what had happened after Marco zapped her to safety. "I thought it was just going to be an _exercise_. When they were briefing us on drug dealers I thought it was going to be other trainees _pretending_ to be drug dealers, but they weren't; they were real! Marco teleported me out as soon as they started shooting. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I should not have panicked like that, but there were no patterns. I see patterns, but there were no patterns to be seen. It was just messy human chaos!" 

"It's okay," Jed said, patting her somewhat awkwardly on the back. "You weren't trained for that. There was nothing you could have done." 

It was true that Abigail hadn't been trained for a situation even close to what they had faced, but Diana still found herself resenting her outburst. She'd worked her entire career having to convince male colleagues that she wouldn't get hysterical the first time the heat was on. 

"But when I heard—" 

Brad cut straight to the chase. "Shit, did somebody actually get shot?" 

"I did," Jed said. "Well, _one of me_ got shot. And Marco got his spine ripped out. Looked a hell of a lot worse actually. You wouldn't have thought _he'd_ be the one who survived. Go figure." 

Diana shuddered. She'd spent the morning calmly writing up the reports, barely sparing a thought to the sound the bullet made tearing its way through Marco's body because it didn't matter because he was _fine_. She was _not_ going to freak out now.   

"' _Spine_ ripped out'?" Brad repeated. 

"'The _one_ who survived'?" spare-Garrity repeated. 

Jed sighed. "Matt Carmichael regrew Marco's spine. He's as good as new. But Charlie took a headshot. He was already dead when I found him." 

"Charlie?" the spare Garrity asked. 

"Washington assigned us nametags during the briefing. Y'know, _Charlie, Delta, Echo_ and so on." 

"Washington sent Garrity Charlie in without backup," Diana snapped. On some level, she felt she should be consoling, should say something kind or uplifting. Yet even after pouring all of her thoughts out into written words, she still couldn't release the rage.  

"And as long as Jed Garrity can split off backups, he's expendable," Jed said. 

"I don't think he cared if _any of us_ were killed," Diana said. "Abigail and Marco had no business even being there. I was nearly run over by a car myself. He actively put us in danger to see what we could do." 

"But you're still okay," Tom told Jed, looking for the silver lining, which was the exact opposite of what Jed wanted to hear. "It's not like you _really_ died." 

"If my life and death are so meaningless," Jed spit, "kill me now. Go ahead. Take out your gun and kill me. Dissect me. It's not like I matter. All that the other Garrities will have lost is a tiny fraction of mass and one terrible day of memories. So kill me." 

"I didn't mean— I just meant—" Tom foundered. 

"How _much_ mass?" spare-Garrity asked. 

"Christ, not you too?!" Jed snarled. 

"No fighting," Abigail pleaded, reaching out to both of them. "You're both really stressed right now." 

Diana hated Abigail in that moment. It wasn't fair. Abigail was _nice_ , but she was also being a big giant _Girl_ —a stereotype of nurturing femininity that put Diana on edge—playing peacemaker when really they should _all_ be screaming with righteous fury. 

Diana could stay and argue or she could get the hell out of the room, which seemed like the more polite option as both Garrities were drawn into a group hug with Abigail. 

"So, I take it no one's seen Marco," Diana said, edging towards the exit. 

"Medical," Abigail said, again waving her bandaged finger. "They were going to release him, but he was freaking out about fungal growth or something and insisted on a private exam." 

"Fungal growth?" Tom repeated. 

"Long story," Diana said. It really wasn't. Nor was she pressed for time as she wanted to claim. She just wanted to leave, right now, before she started punching walls. "I sent you copy of my report." 

She was already heading for the door, but stopped herself before she stormed out. 

"Jed, I don't even have words. I can't imagine what you're going through. Did you want to cancel Thursday? If it's too much, I'm sure everyone will understand." 

"God, no," both Garrities said.  

"We're absolutely still on," Echo said. 

"I think it would mean even more than usual under the circumstances," Spare added. 

"Okay, I'll see you then."  

Diana shook off Tom's attempt to follow her. She was polite enough to get around a corner before she shifted her timestream. Letting him see her dart away struck her as rude.  

The medical wing was a hodgepodge of old and new. Before the return of the 4400, NTAC hadn't needed more than a rudimentary medical division, emergency services, forensics. That sort of thing. The need for increased medical research and analytics and public health screenings had built up that end of the facility significantly. Yet they still hadn't been given the budget for an entirely new structure. Modern additions were tacked onto WWII-era concrete lined halls. 

Could people see her? That was the sort of thing they should be testing in a proper abilities exercise. Was she completely invisible at high speed or was she a detectable blur? Was it safe to snoop? She suspected not. Strangers might not know what was going on if a flash of color breezed by, but her coworkers were bound to put two and two together. 

She slowed herself down and rejoined the world. Curt inquiries elicited the information that Garrity Charlie was already being processed for his autopsy and Marco was still being examined. A woman Diana didn't recognize politely suggested she have a seat in the waiting room. 

The waiting room was a new concept since the 4400, but it was an older section of building repurposed to allow the public to sit and anxiously twiddle their thumbs while waiting for follow-up appointments, never knowing when a bad test result might throw them back into quarantine. 

A lot had changed with the promicin outbreak. The room that would have once been packed with 4400 now only had a small scattering of people, more than half of whom she recognized as NTAC staff from the day's disastrous training. Jed Garrity was one of them. 

"Hey, um," Diana began, almost grateful for another chance to get it right even as she dreaded offering her condolences yet again. She took the seat next to him when he didn't stand. "Jed, I'm sorry I ditched out so quickly after we got back. I just, I wanted to get all my reports written while it was all still fresh. I didn't even stop to think how unbelievably weird this has to be for you. Is there anything I can do?" 

"That time thing you do doesn't work backward does it?" Jed asked with a weary grin. 

"Sorry. Slow, fast, and in between. No rewind." 

He nodded and it was only then that she noticed the ice pack wrapped around one hand. 

"What happened? Are you okay?" 

The smile was genuine then. "I punched Washington right in the face." 

Diana barked out a laugh and then quickly stifled it. "Oh, God, are you okay?" Her question this time was less about his health and more about his career. 

Jed sighed. "Everybody's fine. It's not even broken. I don't think Washington will even have a bruise." 

"Low mass equals low momentum," Diana realized. 

"Yeah, and Washington has this weird _no harm, no foul_ attitude. He didn't even reprimand me. Just had someone make a note about how my ability affected my fighting skills." 

"Was he at least contrite about how badly this exercise went?" 

"If he'd been contrite, I wouldn't have punched him. He's _delighted_ with how the exercise went. We arrested everybody connected to the drug ring. Marco proved he can teleport others. Matt brought Marco back from the brink of death. Somebody in finance has some psychic thing going and called for an ambulance before you'd even called it in." 

"Finance? There were _accountants_ out there? Jesus." 

"And he gets to do a full autopsy on me without technically losing an agent. It's just win-win as far as he's concerned. The only thing he counted as a failure was Abigail. She's right up there with Meghan and Tom competing for useless ability award." 

"Where's Matt?" Diana asked. "You should get him to take the swelling down." 

"Washington's orders. He wants to see what happens when I re-integrate with an injury. I'm not sure if he's being vindictive or psychopathically clinical, but I'm not getting fired so I can't really argue. They're doing a full exam of a healthy version of me right now so they have a basis for comparison." 

Diana shook her head in frustration—they really were working for a psychopath—but Jed removed the ice pack and flexed his fingers at her to show her it wasn't more than swollen knuckles. 

Another Garrity walked out of the exam area and waved him in, "We're ready." 

Jed nodded a goodbye to Diana and got up to join his other self, who flinched at his approach. 

"Does it hurt a lot?" he asked. 

"It's barely anything. Stop being a baby." 

"Ow!" Jed exclaimed as there was suddenly just one of him. 

"Are you okay?" Diana asked yet again. 

"Fine. It's a lot better than it was actually, just, y'know, worse than not being injured at all." He turned and disappeared back into the exam rooms, leaving Diana to marvel at what it must be like to have Jed's memories, simultaneously remembering being the one to throw the punch and being the one who watched. 

Impatience got the better of her and she got up to ask the man at the desk how much longer Marco would be only to get roped into her own blood test. She couldn't argue. There was no evidence that using an ability under stress would result in any notable biochemical change, but it was worth collecting the data just in case. 

Having her blood drawn distracted her for a few minutes, but she was sent back into the waiting room with, "They're going to be a while yet. Why don't you read a magazine?" 

Diana sat down, straight-backed on the edge of her chair, and stared at the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the minute hand gliding around the clock faster than even the second hand ought to be moving. 

There were several false alarms such as when Jed and other staff entered and exited, but in less than half a minute of Diana's time—at least twenty minutes on the clock—Marco walked out and startled to find her waiting for him. 

"I don't know about you, but I could use a break," she said. "How about we blow this joint?" 

Marco seemed taken aback. "I have analysis reports and…" 

"Time is not a concern, Marco," she whispered. "Let's go." 

She turned and walked out into the hallway in a way she hoped came across as cool and confident, rather than demanding and desperate. 

Marco followed and as soon as they were out of sight of others, she gave him a quick hug. 

"In case, I haven't mentioned it, I'm _really_ glad that you're not dead," she said, not entirely succeeding in keeping the tremor out of her voice. 

"Yeah, me too." 

"So, option one is we find a supply closet," Diana said. 

Marco looked genuinely panicked. 

"Option two, we go back to your place." 

"Option three, we go somewhere nice?" Marco said. "I could call and see if I can book us a hotel in Paris or Oahu and then teleport us there before they even have the room ready." 

"That sounds complicated," Diana said, oddly put off by the mundanity of needing to make hotel reservations. "The supply closet is starting to sound tempting."  

She tried to seductively run her finger down his chest. Her finger caught in the small bloody hole in the fabric, still nearly invisible in the busy pattern of the cloth.  

"We should go to the beach," she decided. "Somewhere you can go shirtless." 

"South of France?" Marco suggested. "Somewhere _you_ can go shirtless?" 

Diana laughed. "You surprise me. I might surprise you." 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 


	13. Diana Dreams

♥…—…—…—…♥

He took them to a hilltop she didn't recognize, green rolling vistas that dropped away suddenly to craggy rocks and the sea. She thought she could just make out a few paths in the distance, but she wasn't sure if they were made for human hikers or simply the natural paths made by grazing livestock. She could see sheep dotting the valley below and not another single human so the odds seemed to be on sheep. 

It was gloriously beautiful, so green she'd suspect a picture of it was photoshopped. She almost couldn't believe her own eyes, a glorious view in every single direction. To appreciate it properly, she should probably do a Julie Andrews spin, but she didn't have the right skirt for it. 

It was also slightly chilly and not quite what she'd had in mind. 

"Hang on," Marco said, popping away and leaving Diana alone in… Scotland? Norway? Narnia? 

He did not return immediately and Diana had one of her strange intrusive thoughts. What if Marco died? For real and without Matt there to revive him and Diana just had to get on with her life without him. It was a sad, empty thought, but not dramatically grief-inducing. 

Even if she wasn't in love with him—which obviously she couldn't be if she could so casually imagine his death—a normal person should be able to tap into some valid emotion at the idea of losing a lover and close friend. The idea that Marco could have actually died left Diana feeling… nothing at all. 

Beyond nothing. _Nothing_ implied that Diana would go on as she had before without any change. What she felt was instead a tangible _nothingness_. She would go on as she had before for Maia's sake and her job's sake. 

Because her job was important and it was doubly important that it was done by good people. _Do not discount good,_ the theoretically-late Marco Pacella had once told her. 

So she would go through the motions and continue and only occasionally wonder what the point was since everyone just crumbled to dust eventually anyway. 

Another minute or two ticked by. Maybe. 

Diana powered off her cell phone and re-started it, hoping to resync with the nearest cell tower, but it stubbornly insisted there was no signal within range. She made a mental note to get one of those radio-controlled watches that stayed in sync with the signal out of Fort Collins. What was the range on those things? A radio signal out of Colorado probably wouldn't have helped wherever she was anyway. 

What if Marco wasn't dead but trapped in a time bubble? Or what if Diana was the one who was trapped? What if, once again, she'd altered her timestream without realizing it? With nothing objective to judge by, how could she tell? 

She watched the sheep, little more than white specks in the distance. How fast did sheep normally move? Eventually, a bird flew by at a perfectly normal speed and she relaxed a little, but the thought didn't entirely go away. 

From her vantage point, she had the insane urge to speed the world up and watch time flow. Like standing on the edge of a cliff and thinking, _I could just step off._ Not a suicidal thought, but a _pull_ toward oblivion _just to see_. She could stand here and watch winter come, speed through it quickly enough to avoid freezing to death as the snows fell, and then watch spring re-bloom anew. Watch, year after year, as the hills eroded. Perhaps an earthquake to bring up more jagged cliffs. Did they have earthquakes in Narnia? 

The thought was terrifying. In an instant, Diana could outlive everyone she had ever met. And it was _tempting_. Instead of horror—or at least in addition to horror—she felt a strange sense of fascination. It would be _beautiful_ to watch the world reform before her eyes. 

If she didn't have a daughter… if she didn't have Marco… 

Diana startled when Marco returned wearing a clean shirt and carrying an armload of blankets, with a bag slung over one shoulder. He spread out one of the blankets with a flourish and then neatly stacked the rest on the corner of it. He tugged open a pocket of the bag to surreptitiously show Diana that the bag contained condoms. As if the sheep might be judging them. 

The sheep might well be judging them soon enough. 

"Outdoor sex?" she asked. 

"I've never…" A smile flickered across his face, alternating with a worried frown; the muscles at the corners of his mouth almost seemed to spasm with indecision. "I thought it might be interesting… if you still want to, I mean, after… We, uh, we should talk first." 

He kicked off his shoes and sat down on the blanket. Diana did the same, trying not to shiver. With her luck, if she told Marco she was cold, he'd disappear again to find a sweater and make her cocoa. She'd rather they just got on with warming themselves up. 

"I'm glad you're not dead," Diana said again. 

"I'm glad you're not dead, too," Marco said with a grin. 

She pressed her hand to his chest, just a reassurance that it was whole and solid and alive and then she completely broke down. Marco hugged her while she sobbed, getting melodramatic tears all over his clean shirt. 

"You were _dying_ and it was _my fault_ because I _saw_ the bullet, but I didn't even think about how it could hurt someone _else_ when it was moving so _slowly_ and I don't even know if I _could_ have moved it if I tried or if I could have found a way to _warn_ you, but the point is that I didn't even _try_ because I was just so caught up in my _own_ perspective because I'm just so _fucking_ self-centered and _calculating_ that I don't even _think_ about other people beyond how they affect _me_ like I'm just this inhuman, unfeeling _robot_ and now _I'm crying like a big, stupid, overemotional girl!"_

Marco rubbed her back. "Am I supposed to say something reassuring? Because I'm pretty sure that I don't need to explain that crying doesn't make you stupid and being analytical doesn't make you a robot and that _unfeeling_ and _overemotional_ don't go together at all." 

Diana laughed into his shoulder. 

"Also it wasn't your fault they were shooting. You couldn't have warned me, because I teleported in without warning you that I was coming back. Nothing that happened this morning was your fault and I think I have you to thank for keeping me alive long enough for Matt Carmichael to get there. You're fucking awesome, Diana Skouris, and don't you forget it." 

"Speaking of fucking…" Diana said, trying to wipe the snot off of her face as nonchalantly as possible. 

"Quick conversation first," Marco said, handing Diana a travel pack of tissue from his bag. She laughed at his practicality even as she was grateful for it. 

"Conversation?" 

"So, you remember the teeth thing?" 

It took her a moment to remember what the teeth thing was about. "You're going to have to have your wisdom teeth out again? Is it painful? Are you in pain now?" 

"The weird thing is they grew back straight this time so I might not have to, so it's not really painful, my teeth just feel a little tighter than they used to. Apparently, I might notice discomfort when I eat so I may still want them out, but that's not the big deal at the moment." 

He glanced downward with enough significance that Diana finally realized this conversation was not as unrelated to the impending sex as she had thought. 

"You actually have a weird fungal growth?" Diana asked. 

Marco laughed. "No! I'm fine. Absolutely clean bill of health. Nothing catchy, nothing fungus-y. It's just… Matthew Carmichael's powers seem to work like a factory reset button. So, y'know, all original factory settings have been reinstalled." 

Diana gave up on decorum and blew her nose while Marco sorted out his thoughts and got to the point. 

"Foreskin, Diana. I'm talking about foreskin." 

"Oh!" Of course, that made perfect sense. In this case, the side effects were well worth the life-saving measures, but Matt would need to be cautious about using his powers too casually. "You should probably be revaccinated, too. Just in case. Although, if a factory reset didn't affect your ability, it's possible you're not affected at a biochemical level." 

"They're running lab work now. I'll be sure to send you a copy when the results come back." 

"I wonder if with practice Matt can learn to isolate specific body parts or if it's always a full-body effect." 

"Maybe he can specialize in healing women until he's worked that out." 

"Marco, hymens, no. Well worth it if he can save a life, but he's going to have to resist the urge to heal trivial boo-boos." 

"Can I assume this means you don't care?" Marco asked. 

"What?" 

"My penis has extra stuff on it. Are we okay with that?" 

"I don't think it really affects _me_. How do you feel?" 

"I… I don't know… It feels weird, but I haven't had a chance to… experiment." 

"Well, fortunately, you just happen to know a scientifically-minded colleague who can help you out with that." Diana grinned and batted her eyelashes as saucily as she could manage without laughing at herself.

Marco glanced around to make sure no one was watching. She was tempted to ask him where they were, but that would take some of the fun out of it. Without a name or a GPS location, it felt like a magical place outside of reality. 

"Okay, so, um, I realize for a lot of people the fear of getting caught is supposed to heighten the experience, but I was kind of hoping you could, um…" 

The breeze stilled, the birds crawled slowly through the evening air. The sound of the distant ocean that she hadn't even been consciously aware of went silent. She took a deep breath and without thinking words like _faster_ or _slower_ just felt things slip into place. The birds stopped crawling through the air and hovered in near perfect stillness. Only near perfect. She could still sense some infinitesimal creep in the progression of time even if she couldn't see it. 

If they weren't playing hooky during a workday, Diana might have argued the point. Sex on a foreign hillside with the breeze blowing through her hair was alluring even with the too-chilly weather. Even if they did get caught, worst-case, Marco could teleport them back to his place and no one could prove it was them. No risk of getting tossed into a Narnian prison for indecent exposure. But they had work to avoid and for that time needed to stand still, or as close as Diana could manage. 

She stood back up and pulled off her clothes and then—what the hell—gave the mountaintop a good Julie Andrews twirl. It would have been more effective with a skirt and, also, while not entirely naked. 

Marco laughed. 

"You better be laughing _with_ me, Pacella." 

Marco pulled off his shirt and trousers and underpants, neatly stacking them on the corner of the blanket. Then he joined her on the grass for a twirl. He looked ridiculous, his penis spinning out at a weird angle with the momentum. 

Diana knelt down on the blanket. "Okay, bring your newly hooded friend over here for his examination with the nice scientist." 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Diana dreamed of sex with Marco that night, almost as it had really been—a blowjob, building to some adventuresome (by their standards) doggy-style pounding on the blanket. The details of the dream shifted though. It wasn't daytime, but instead a dramatic sunset. The ocean crashed and the birds flew and the chilly wind blew. Diana's perspective shifted, at once both herself and an external bird's eye view. On her hands and knees, her breasts jounced like a porn star's and not at all comically as she feared they might have actually done. 

Jed wandered through in hiking boots and backpack and asked if they'd seen Tom. Marco continued thrusting, oblivious to or simply unembarrassed by the interruption as Diana directed Jed after Jed down the path. 

Diana had never considered herself to be an exhibitionist, but her subconscious mind next conjured the entire theory room to stand around and critique their performance alongside a platoon of Garrities. 

Slim chided them for not tracking their food intake in a spreadsheet for at least twenty-four hours prior to oral sex. Brad pondered the effect of adrenaline from the near-death experience. Abigail offered to demonstrate how young athletic women were doing it these days. Jed only watched with an unreadable detachment. 

Rather than mortification, her arousal was amplified and she woke up suddenly, wet and horny. _What the hell, Diana? Seriously?_ It was bad enough that she was having an affair with _one_ coworker. Now _all_ of them were turning up in her sex dreams? 

_Dreams don't really mean anything,_ she told herself. They were just the random firings of neurons as the brain sifted and sorted the day's memories. _You're a weirdo_ , she also told herself. Nice girls don't have sex on mysterious hilltops and dream of people watching them do it. 

That was probably her grandmother's voice again. She tried to remember her _other_ grandmother. 

Nanna MacConnach had died when Diana was quite young and her memory had taken on a mythic quality where Diana could never be quite sure if she was remembering the person or the imaginary construct, Mother Goose and Mother Hubbard and the Old Woman Who Lived In a Shoe, mixed together with a dash of Kentucky moonshiner. She didn't think Nanna MacConnach actually had made her own moonshine or been a bootlegger. Certainly hadn't actually been old enough to be a flapper. But Diana always imagined that she had been. Could almost see her in her short dress and pearls hanging out the side of a Model T with a Tommy gun. The rumble seat loaded with big brown jugs with big X's marked across them. Little Diana's imagination had somewhat outstripped her factual knowledge. 

Her two grandmothers _hated_ one another. There was photographic proof that they had been in the same room at her parents' wedding, apparently without killing anyone, but it was hard to imagine. They each referred to the other as _that woman_. 

The only thing Diana was sure she remembered about Nanna MacConnach—beyond the vivid quote- _memory_ -unquote of the flapper who lived in a giant shoe—was a joke she had once told. Inexplicably, Diana remembered _understanding_ the joke. Perhaps not the intricacies of the sexual act itself, but the basic mechanics that it was naughty to store boy dolls on top of girl dolls and thus was something her grandmother would not allow. 

Her grandmother—as her paternal grandmother was not associated with any fond appellation—did not object to girl dolls being stored with girl dolls and boy dolls being stored with boy dolls. Diana was very confused when she learned homosexuality was a thing. If her grandmother had never explicitly disapproved of it, how could it be sex? Indeed Diana's understanding of sex was almost exclusively informed by things her grandmother disapproved of which… oddly enough worked out for the most part. As young as she had been, this education had been enough for her to understand Nanna MacConnach's ribald joke. 

The protagonist of the story was Old Nanna Young, a name that set Little Diana into a fit of giggles before the story had even begun. She had no idea if Old Nanna Young had been a real person, perhaps Nanna MacConnach's own grandmother, or if she was entirely a construct of Nanna's imagination invented to make Diana giggle. 

Old Nanna Young was very old and on her one-hundredth birthday, the newspaper came to take her picture and interview her for the paper. Marveling at her seeming good health, the newspaperman asked, "Have you ever been bedridden?" 

"Oh, my, yes! Thousands of times!" Old Nanna Young exclaimed. "And twice in a haystack!" 

Diana wasn't sure she knew how to explain to Marco that _haystack_ had been on her sex fantasy list before she even fully understood what sex was. 

The dream was quickly fading, but it was still enough to confuse her memory. Marco's foreskin had not stretched like taffy that she could pull in great handfuls; that had been the dream. The stars were not crystal clear lights that eerily did not twinkle; that had also been the dream. The grass had smelled like spring even though it was the wrong time of year; that had been real. Did a bird creep a millimeter far enough to enter their timestream so that it flapped at normal speed for several moments before slowing again; she honestly wasn't sure if that had really happened or not. 

She checked the clock and it was not yet three in the morning. She should roll back over and try to get a few more hours sleep. Or she could call Marco and see if he was up for more sex. She favored the sex option. She wasn't sure this experiment of theirs was working. All she was learning about herself was that the more sex she had, the more sex she _wanted_. She had often gone through long stretches of contented celibacy. Life was just so much simpler on your own than with a romantic partner that it often just wasn't worth the hassle. But… as long as you _could_ have sex, as long as it was an _option_ , it was an option she wanted. 

She hadn't remembered feeling this way with Ben. He was handsome. The sex was good. There was even that weird destined-to-be-married prophecy of Maia's. And Maia was so rarely wrong that Diana took full ownership of screwing that one up. She'd taken it for granted perhaps. Or maybe on some subconscious level, she sabotaged it because she didn't like anyone, least of all fate, telling her what to do. At any rate, they had had sex on a fairly regular basis and it had been enough. 

She and Marco had had sex yesterday _on a magical hilltop for fuck's sake_ and she wanted more already. 

She propped herself up on her elbows and stared at the glowing digital clock, red numbers quickly counting up to 6:00. Was that late enough? Seven might be better, but by then he might be in the shower already. Hopefully, he wouldn't mind being woken up a little before his alarm. 

She called. The phone rang long enough that she started to question her decision. He was still asleep. He would be annoyed to be woken so early. He wouldn't be in the mood. 

"Hello?" His voice was rough with sleep. 

"Good morning," she said, rolling her eyes at herself. She should have rehearsed a more sultry greeting. 

"Diana? Is everything okay?" 

"Everything is _super_ okay." _What?! That's your come-on line, Diana? Sheesh!_ "For the purposes of increased data collection, I think we need to increase our schedule of repeated experiments." _Not better, Diana. Not better._

"You… you want to have sex more often?" 

"Yes." 

"Um, okay." 

Diana gave up. "Now, Marco. There is a naked woman waiting for you right now. Come and get her." 

"Where…?" 

"I'm in my bedroom. You can teleport accurately enough to target a specific room?" 

Marco was instantly there leaving Diana listening to empty air. She hung up with a chuckle. He was wearing pajama pants and a ratty T-shirt. Diana was wearing a ratty sleep shirt herself despite promising him nudity, but she made up for it in a heartbeat, kicking off her underwear as well. He crawled onto the bed and she rose up to meet him, pressing her now fully nude body against his warm sleep clothes as they kissed. 

"Not here," she said, breaking away from the kiss, but even as she rubbed her body against him. "I don't want Maia to hear us. Take me back to your place." 

He stood up and reached for her robe, but she pulled him back. 

"Take the naked woman back to your place, Marco." 

She felt his erection pressing against her then. Was she making him feel like a caveman dragging his woman back to his cave? She should not be getting off on such disempowering fantasies. She screamed at her brain to please shut the hell up for once. _Stop guilt-tripping me, stupid brain!_

Fortunately, Marco just teleported them back to his bed without commentary. She could have asked for a more exotic locale, but the sheets smelled like Marco and her dream had functioned as foreplay and she was ready to just get the hell on with it. 

She nestled into his pillow, grounding herself in the familiar, cozy domesticity. If she feared for a moment that Marco wouldn't be interested in her sudden nymphomaniac demands, those fears were allayed as he murmured nonsense into her ear. 

"God, I love you," he whispered as he nuzzled her neck. 

Marco slipped a finger inside her. If he was surprised by how wet she was, he didn't say anything, but she felt the need to explain anyway. "I was dreaming about you," she purred. She would never, ever mention that she had also dreamed about Brad and Slim and Abigail and _so_ many of Jed. 

"I think I might be dreaming about you right now," Marco said. 

She shuddered as he worked his way down—kissing her almost chastely on the neck, shoulder, clavicle, sternum, all the while one finger still lazily stirred figure eights inside her vagina—until, eventually, his lips closed on one nipple. He gently flicked his tongue, but barely did more than get it wet with his saliva before moving on to the other breast. The tease of it was almost more arousing than any technique she could have taught him. 

"Marco," she gasped. "Please. I'm ready. We can skip the slow buildup if you don't mind." 

He lifted his head to look at her questioningly. She was pretty much begging for the exact opposite of all her sexual advice to date. "You don't want foreplay?" 

"When I said I dreamed about you, I wasn't kidding. I think all the necessary foreplay happened before I woke up." 

"That's so hot," Marco said, voice uncharacteristically husky. 

He kissed his way down to her navel and dipped the tip of his tongue inside as he began stroking inside her more purposely with two fingers this time. Diana's belly button had always been a ticklish spot with a strange direct wire to her lady bits. There was no satisfaction to be found that way, but it always made her crotch _tickle_ even if she was doing something as mundane as soaping up her belly button with a washcloth. The effect Marco was having was indescribable. He was producing an itch that he was literally already scratching. 

"Oh, God, yes, Marco, fuck me now or not. I'm not waiting for you." 

She moaned like an idiot. Marco had previously insisted that encouraging noises were helpful to let him know when something was working. It still felt unnatural, but she abso-fucking-lutely wanted to encourage this. 

Marco was a traditionalist it seemed. Rather than accept her belly-button kink at face value, he worked his way further down. Perhaps he just wanted more practice to hone his cunnilingus skills. Diana made even more ridiculous noises and not because she was consciously trying to provide him with positive reinforcement. 

"Good?" Marco asked, his head popping up eagerly after her moans finally trailed off. 

"Fantastic." 

"So, uh, are you feeling _done_ or…?" 

Marco fumbling for permission to continue after Diana got off was as adorable as it was awkward. 

"Get up here and put your dick in me, Pacella," she said. 

Marco settled into classic missionary position and slipped inside her. 

It was nice that way and there was definitely an advantage to a lover who didn't tower over her. Diana had a tendency to romanticize tall men, yet it made things awkward in the sack. She and Marco fit together perfectly. She only had to tilt her head ever so slightly and they were able to kiss and fuck simultaneously. 

She felt another orgasm coming on or maybe she just hadn't fully come down from the last one. A little voice in the back of her head said it would be interesting to see the results if she'd been hooked up to monitoring devices. Was there an exact point where you could clinically draw the line between orgasm and not-orgasm? Should you only count the very pinnacle or should shuddering aftershocks all be classified as part of the same event? 

She felt like she ought to be doing more. The ex-fiancé-who-shall-not-be-named used to tease her about being a pillow princess when she wasn't doing her part. Missionary position didn't give her a lot of leverage for much more than lying back and enjoying it though. She clutched Marco to her and moaned into the kiss. He moaned back, a comically rhythmic sound in time with his thrusts. 

Diana broke the kiss to gasp for breath and was startled to find herself screaming out, "Yes! Yes! YES!" 

Marco was crying out as well and they came together like a perfect wave crashing on the beach. The afterglow was pure poetry, marred by the beeping of Marco's alarm clock. 

Marco reached for it, but the beep stopped before his hand got close. He glanced at Diana. 

"I don't know about you," she said, tucking herself into his side, "but I could use a few more hours sleep." 

"You need to sleep over _every_ night." 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 


	14. Diana Has Turkey and Pie

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Thanksgiving morning dawned bright and chilly and uncharacteristically dry. She had a brief thrill of wondering if it might snow when she awoke to the radio announcing it was 31 degrees, but by the time she'd finished her morning coffee, the temperature had dramatically risen. The weatherman said to expect a high of 42 and partly-cloudy skies, but a listener called in to announce the high would hit 46 and stay sunny all day. 

Jed had said they didn't need to bring anything, but Maia insisted that if they didn't cook something themselves on Thanksgiving it was cheating. Worse, Maia had picked out a recipe that she wanted Diana to try. It was for cornbread stuffing muffins and the picture at the top of the recipe looked delicious, but Diana had never made anything remotely like them before. 

"Are you sure about this?" Diana asked. "We could just grab something at the store on the way. Pie? Everyone loves pie." 

"Mom, you can do this." 

They had to go to the grocery store anyway since Diana didn't have half the ingredients on hand. As expected, it was a zoo of last-minute holiday shoppers. 

"See, look at this. The pies are even on sale." 

"Mom." 

They bought all of the ingredients on Maia's list, but Diana bought a pumpkin pie as well just in case. It wasn't that Diana _couldn't_ cook. It was just that it never seemed to be worth the effort. There was the hassle of shopping and prepping and then the actual cooking and then all the cleaning up and the end result was rarely better than mediocre. 

"We're going to follow the directions _exactly_ ," Maia said firmly. 

"Are you implying that I don't follow directions?" Diana asked, but she knew Maia had her number. She'd already tried to substitute two ingredients at the grocery store, one in an attempt to lower the fat content and the other because she just didn't see how dried cranberries had any business being in the recipe, to begin with. 

"Following. The directions. Exactly." 

"Fine. Fine. Just know that this is not going to be like one of those cooking shows where everything comes out perfectly." 

It was like one of those cooking shows where everything came out perfectly. 

Maia laid out all the ingredients and read off the instructions step by step. First came browning the sausage in a frying pan, which seemed excessive. _What happened to stuffing just being soggy croutons?_ However, for a change, nothing burned—neither food nor cook. Diana dropped the big wooden spoon and nearly dropped the bowl when she was trying to spoon the mix into the muffin pans. Yet with her new magical timing, she caught everything before it hit the floor or spilled. And then it was time to put it in the oven. 

"How long?" 

"The recipe says 45 to 55 minutes." 

"Are you sure? That seems too long doesn't it?" 

"Mom." 

"It wouldn't hurt anything to check it early," Diana insisted. She set the timer for 35 minutes. The timer dinged and she opened the oven and checked. "Okay, you win. They aren't quite done yet. Ten more minutes." 

"You really just fast-forwarded the oven," Maia said, _almost_ sounding impressed. 

"Technically I slowed us down so it only seemed that way. Messing with appliances is bad." 

The timer dinged and she pulled the muffins out to cool. 

"Okay, that was actually pretty neat." 

"And now we have about ten minutes to get ready before we need to leave. Which," she added just as Maia was starting to turn away, "is more than enough time to finish all of your homework." 

"But it's not due until Monday." 

"Imagine how nice it will be to get it out of the way now and have the whole weekend to relax." 

"But I have algebra and French and history _and_ science homework. It will take _hours_." 

"Like I said. Plenty of time." 

"I take it back. Your superpower isn't neat at all." 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Diana had a strange twinge of guilt. It wasn't about forcing her daughter to get her homework done before the party, Despite the whining, it turned out to be easy work and by Maia's own watch it took less than two hours. And by the kitchen clock, no time at all. The muffins were still steaming hot when they packed up to go. 

The guilt was about it being too easy. "Samantha Stephens did all her housework the hard way and only twitched her nose as the last resort. Is it cheating to use your superpowers whenever it's convenient?" 

"Who?" 

"It was a TV show. Before your time. After your time. _Between_ your times. Samantha was a beautiful witch who was married to a boring human advertising executive who got his ego bruised whenever she used magic instead of doing things the mortal way." 

"Sounds like you just answered your own question," Maia observed. "You don't have a boring advertising executive to worry about bruising his ego." 

"And even if I did," Diana said, locking the door behind them. "Derwood would just have to get over it." 

"I'm actually kind of ordinary now." Maia put the muffins in the backseat and then buckled herself into the front passenger seat. "I used to be this weird girl from another time who talked about things before they happened. I was literally the strangest person in the neighborhood. I never thought I'd go to a public school where I fit in." 

"And now?" Diana pulled the car out of the driveway, silently reminding herself that they were not in a hurry and there was no reason to bend time even a little on the way to Jed's house. 

"We have a cheerleader who can fly. Maybe not fly exactly, but they've got this routine where they fling her in the air and she does like seventeen flips before she floats back down. And another cheerleader, Sarah, is strong enough to do this inverted pyramid where she lifts five other cheerleaders. I'm one of the most boring people at my school now." 

"Do you mind?" 

"It's awesome," Maia said. Diana risked a glance to the side. Maia was grinning, genuinely pleased to be an ordinary kid. 

_If everyone has a superpower, no one does,_ Diana thought to herself. It wasn't true at all though. If everyone had the _same_ ability it would have been. When everyone had a slightly different ability, the novelty never quite wore off. 

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Jed's place turned out to not be a house, but a garden apartment in a three-flat building. Diana braced herself for the inevitable musty smell as they walked down the steps, feeling a touch claustrophobic before she even knocked on the door, the backup pie carefully balanced in one hand. 

Jed opened the door with a bright, perhaps slightly forced, smile and immediately chided them for bringing food when he had a full meal prepared. 

He was placated when Maia offered him a muffin. 

"Oh, wow, this is amazing. You have to try these! Stuffing muffins!" he called over his shoulder. Two more Garrities came over to greet them and each took a muffin. 

They were conveniently color-coded in otherwise identical sweaters. Blue had greeted them. Green and Yellow each took a muffin. 

"You can put the food in the back," Yellow said, directing them towards the kitchen. 

Despite her fears that the apartment would be dank and cramped, it was a large open space. The living room and dining room were separated only by a wide token arch and the dining room was open to the kitchen. An open side door led to a bedroom where coats were being piled up. Despite the meteorologist's promises, most people had dressed with the assumption they'd get rained upon on their way home. 

"Diana!" April pounced on her in a hug as if they hadn't seen each other every day at work regularly. 

"Hey," Purple Garrity said, giving her a polite nod from his spot on one of the couches. 

"Hey," Brad and Slim echoed from the couch on the opposite wall. 

Red Garrity popped out of the kitchen and pointed to the table where Maia could put down her muffins. Brad stood up and followed the muffins. 

"Is everyone here?" Red asked. He took the pie from Diana with a silent eye-roll and set it aside. 

"We're still waiting for Meghan and Matt," Abigail said. 

"What about Tom and Marco?" Brad asked. 

"They're not coming," Diana said. "Marco is out of town for a big family gathering and Tom is spending the day with Shawn. He's hoping Kyle will show up." 

Diana felt an odd twinge knowing Marco was out of town. _We are not in a relationship,_ she reminded herself. _Stop being weird._ They'd come to the very rational conclusion ages ago that they were not relationship material. The sex was practice. Self-improvement. That didn't make him her boyfriend. 

"I was thinking of an experiment you should try," Brad said and for a tiny instant, she was sure he was talking about her sexual adventures with Marco. "Time bubbles _inside_ time bubbles. Or maybe a time torus. What we need is a big warehouse and a _lot_ of clocks." 

Matt arrived carrying yet another pie. 

"Why was everyone so worried we wouldn't have enough pie?" Green asked, taking Matt's pie to the kitchen. 

" _Pecan_ pie," Matt called after him. "I was only worried there wouldn't be enough _pecan_ pie."

Meghan arrived a few minutes later with tortilla chips and seven-layer taco dip. 

"I know this seems like the opposite of a problem," Abigail said, "but I honestly think we have too much food." 

"On it," Yellow said, disappearing into another side room. He emerged a moment later adjusting his sweater and followed by Orange and Light Blue. 

"Are you honestly making more of yourself just so you can eat more?" April laughed. 

"Technically, I'm not making more of anything," Orange answered. "I'm just spreading myself out a little. But as to the spirit of your question, yes, absolutely." 

"I normally eat as one," Light Blue added, "for obvious budget reasons, but Thanksgiving is a special occasion." 

"Wait, are you splitting yourself strategically to affect the light spectrum?" Brad asked. 

"What? No. No, Brad, the sweaters are just regular sweaters. I found a style I liked and I bought one of every color." 

"Oh. That's not nearly as cool then." 

"But there are two blues," Slim protested. "We can't have two blues. That's confusing." 

"Light blue and dark blue are completely different colors though," Abigail said. 

"No, they're not, they're both blue." 

"Do you agree that red and pink are different colors?" Diana asked. 

"Yeah." 

"Then you should agree that dark blue and light blue are different colors." 

"But they're both blue," Slim said. 

Meghan pulled rank and interrupted the argument. "For the rest of the party, _you_ are Royal and _you_ are Cornflower. Why is there not football on that TV? I was promised football, turkey, and pie, in that order." 

Abigail patted Cornflower's arm sympathetically as he murmured, "But I don't want to be _Cornflower_ ," while Royal helped Orange look for the TV remote. 

Meghan took the prime position in front of the TV with her taco dip set up on the coffee table in front of her. 

"Don't let them fill up on taco dip!" Red shouted from the kitchen. "The turkey's almost ready!" 

Green and Yellow helped by eating extra taco dip while Meghan explained football to Slim and Brad. 

"But why _foot_ ball?" Brad asked. "Why not _hand_ ball?" 

"Looks more like an egg," Slim said. "Hand-egg." 

"Your joke is not original," Meghan said, "and I've never seen an egg pointed like that." 

"Hand-prolate-spheroid," Brad said. 

"You want to rename football hand-prostate-spheroid?" Meghan repeated. 

" _Prolate_." 

"It's not though," Abigail said. "The cross section is not a true ellipse." 

"Are you sure?" Slim asked. "If you performed the right transformation, I think you could…" 

"Why are they doing math?" Red asked when he had to shoo theorists away so that he could set down the turkey. "Dinner's ready. Come and get it while it's hot." 

"Okay, I gotta ask," April said, as she sat down on the arm of the couch next to Purple. Diana cringed. "How do you decide which one of you is in charge?" 

Purple shrugged. "Sometimes a coin flip. Sometimes it's just whoever is standing closest to the task at hand. He was already ordering people around when I woke up this morning so I have no idea." 

"So you sleep as more than one person?" April asked, glancing up at Diana with a triumphant grin. 

Diana cleared her throat meaningfully, trying and failing not to picture a big puppy-pile of Garrities. 

"I've been sleeping by myself in the spare room since—" He left the sentence unfinished and nodded at the room full of jackets. 

_Echo_ , Diana realized. Jed's existential crisis was going in unexpected directions. If he didn't reintegrate, how long until his separate thoughts and memories made him distinct people. Was each Jed already a unique individual within moments of splitting off? 

"Mom." Maia interrupted her thoughts, standing in front of her with painfully serious expression. For a moment, Diana feared Maia was about to cry. "These are the best potatoes in the universe. You _have_ to get this recipe." 

"I didn't realize you took your potatoes that seriously," Diana said. "I'll see what I can do." 

She glanced at Purple Echo who only shrugged and said, "Green might have the recipe. He was in the kitchen earlier too." 

Maia squeezed into a spot on the couch where she could eat with her plate in her lap. Diana turned towards the dining room where Red was serving up dinner buffet style, but she hesitated when she overheard the conversation continuing behind her. 

"Are you holding up okay?" April asked. 

"Better than I should be," he answered. "It's not even grief. It's just this selfish obsession with 'What if it had been me?'" 

"All grief is selfish," Diana said. "That's why telling someone that Nanna is in heaven now is never any consolation even if you firmly believe it. It doesn't help because you want Nanna here." 

"But I still _am_ here," he said, nodding as Yellow passed by with a huge plate of food. He made no effort to stand even as April stood and motioned for him to join them. 

"So _be_ here," April said. "Why separate yourself? Why sleep alone if you don't have to?" 

"Because I'm punishing myself." He blinked after the words were out of his mouth. "Have you considered a career in therapy? You have a knack." 

April beamed. 

"It's never too late to go back to school," Diana said. She made a point of walking away then. It was too easy to slip into big-sister mode and April's knee-jerk reaction to nearly everything was to rebel. 

Brad slipped into the space she left behind. "You probably don't want to let Washington know you're thinking of a career change," he said to April. 

"Yeah, what's it to you?" April's said with a defensive sniff. 

"I think you're amazing and even if you never let me father your children, I still want you to be safe and happy," Brad said. 

"Okay then." 

The meal was amazing and Diana and Red shared stories of how much an ability helped in the kitchen. 

While sitting in the corner with a TV tray wasn't quite the Norman Rockwell painting Jed had promised, it still felt cozy. Meghan yelled at the football game where the Cowboys were trouncing the Jets. Brad and Slim resumed their debate about the mathematical formula to describe the cross-section of a football. Matt was telling Maia about his dream of one day traveling to war-torn countries to heal trauma victims. 

"I applied for a passport," Matt said, "but there's been a hold on passports for p-positives." 

Diana made a mental note to rant about civil liberties later, but she shoved the thought aside for now. She was not going to ruin her appetite on Thanksgiving. 

Orange and Royal pulled up chairs and TV trays on either side of Diana. Royal had two more of the muffins while Orange was loaded up on the traditional stuff that Red had prepared. 

Purple Echo stood nearby, picking at a plate of green bean casserole. 

"Seriously, dude, just _try_ one of the muffins," Royal said. 

"Someone has to make sure we don't die of scurvy," Purple Echo said. He offered a slight smile and Diana caught the unspoken promise that he planned to rejoin his other selves at some point. 

"Can I get anyone anything while I'm…" Red trailed off and Diana followed his gaze to where Abigail and Cornflower were cozily sharing an ottoman. 

He looked at the other Garrities to see if they understood any more about the situation. They all shrugged. 

Abigail noticed the attention and waved. A rainbow of Garrities waved back. Cornflower rolled his eyes and made shooing motions. The other Garrities tried and failed to look nonchalant. 

Even with the apartment overflowing with friends and good food, Diana felt a twinge of loneliness. She wished Marco could have been there. It was silly. He was at his own family dinner across the country. It's not like he was missing out. 

And he could hardly be expected to turn down his family's invitation. He didn't even have the expense of an airplane ticket anymore. Obviously, with travel being so easy, he'd want to spend the holiday with family. 

Her pocket vibrated half a second before her phone audibly rang and she was already pulling it out, catching it before the second ring. 

"Hello?" All the boisterous chatter in the background was now an annoying distraction as she could barely hear him over it. "Hello? Marco? Hang on a second, let me step out where it's quiet." 

She awkwardly moved her tray out of the way and rushed into the bathroom, only half aware that she'd used her ability to weave through the Garrities. 

"Hi, Marco. How are you?" She caught a glimpse of her reflection. She even _looked_ like an idiot. _You're not a silly teenager anymore, Diana. Straighten up._

"Bored." 

"Bored?" Diana turned her back on the mirror, but there was no room to pace so she sat down on the edge of the tub. 

"When I only see my family once a year or so, it's a big deal to get together. Now that I can just pop in anytime… My mother wants me to help her with the Christmas decorations this weekend. My sister even asked me if I could babysit next Friday. It's all a little smothering and mainly, yeah, I'm bored." 

"Well, I suppose the smothering is a natural instinct," Diana said, guiltily thinking that she didn't like him being out of her sight for so long either. "We almost lost you." 

"Oh, I didn't even tell them about that. This is normal Pacella-family smothering. I can't even imagine if they knew about the, uh, thing." 

"Ah, can't talk?" 

"Can't risk it. Ears everywhere." 

"I miss you," Diana said, immediately regretting how clingy that sounded. 

"God, I miss you, too," Marco said. "We couldn't— That is, obviously we _could_ , but we probably _shouldn't_ — I mean, it's a family holiday so you probably wouldn't even want to—" 

Diana glanced at the door. "If you teleport here, I will absolutely slow down time for you." 

Marco appeared before her, cell phone still to his ear. 

"How did you do that? I didn't even give you directions." 

Marco looked around. "Huh. I have absolutely no idea where I am either. I wasn't even thinking of a place, I was just thinking _Diana_. I didn't know I could target destinations that way." 

"So, bored, huh? What can I do to entertain you? Any ideas?" 

"And we're safe from anyone walking in on us?" 

She pointed at a drop of water that was hovering in midair from the leaky faucet. "Get. Naked." 

"Right." 

Diana rolled up a towel and put it on the floor. 

She knelt down and licked her lips in what she felt was an overexaggerated _I'm about to give you the best blowjob ever_ pose. 

Marco should have melted. Instead, he asked, "Are you sure you don't want to go to a motel? I could call around and see if there are any vacancies anywhere and—" 

"Have you never seen a porno?" Diana asked. "When the woman says 'take me, take me now' you're not supposed to point out the impracticality of having sex on a pool table." 

"Or in a barn on the hay," Marco laughed. 

"Oh, we _are_ having sex on a haystack someday. Don't ask why. It's on the list." 

Marco unzipped and Diana tugged his pants out of the way. She was a little curious about his foreskin. Marco was in the unique position of going from cut to uncut. Did he prefer it? Was it weird? Would he consider being re-circumcised? Was he more sensitive? Less sensitive? Did Diana even have a preference herself? She wasn't quite sure. It was something else to test later. Always later. Later, when they had time? They had all the time in the world. Later, when they weren't so desperately horny, that was really it. 

Diana leaned in for an experimental lick. 

"Okay, awkward timing," Cassie said, standing in the bathtub. 

Diana scrambled to her feet, embarrassed for herself but mainly possessively concerned about Marco's modesty. 

"We have a visitor," Diana announced, trying to block Marco from Cassie's line of sight. "Zip up." 

"What visitor? Where?" 

"He can't see me," Cassie said. 

"I _know_ he can't see you," Diana said. 

"We have an _invisible_ visitor?!" Marco was already tucking himself away even though he didn't understand what was going on. 

"Sandra Dunleavy." 

"Shit." 

"Why are you here?" Diana asked. 

"I'm not really here," she explained needlessly. 

"I can _tell_ , Cassie," Diana snapped. "Why are you in my head?" 

"I need to talk to you." 

"I have a phone." 

"It's an emergency and I can't risk people knowing I talked to you." 

"Define 'emergency'," Diana said, calming slightly as Marco smoothed down his shirt. 

"How can she be talking to you if we're in a time bubble?" Marco asked. 

"A time what, now?" 

Diana pointed at the same drop of water that she'd pointed out to Marco earlier. It had moved ever so slightly, but it was most definitely not obeying the laws of physics. 

"What the hell?" Cassie bent down and stared at the water drop hovering halfway between the faucet and the drain. 

"We are in a sped-up bubble of time," Diana explained. "We're moving so quickly that the rest of the world seems to be standing still. Somewhere out there, your body is essentially frozen in time, but because your ability seems to work by projecting yourself into my mind, you're now perceiving time from my perspective." 

"Makes sense," Marco said. 

"Cool," Cassie said. She took a deep breath."Okay, so, we're not in such a big hurry after all. Good. I need time to explain and this is going to take a while." 

♥…—…—…—…♥


	15. Diana Gets Wet

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Cassie sat down in the bathtub, making herself comfortable—or at least seeming to. Not actually being there, was there such a thing as uncomfortable? With little room to move, Diana sighed, flipped the toilet lid closed, and had a seat. Unfortunately, that put her at roughly crotch-height to Marco who still appeared to be a little wound-up. 

"Okay, suggestion," Diana said, quickly standing back up. "Let's have this conversation somewhere with a little more elbow room. Marco, surprise me." 

Marco took her hand and the next thing she knew, they were standing in an evergreen forest. Cassie teleported right along with them without anyone touching her. 

"Huh. Are we actually here?" Cassie asked. "Or are we projecting ourselves here? Am I a projection inside of a projection? Do we have the same ability?" Cassie pouted slightly on the last question. 

"Yes, no, no, and no," Diana said and then for Marco's benefit added, "She's worried you two have the same ability. She thinks you might be mentally projecting us here." 

"My ability is teleportation," Marco said to the air a few paces to Cassie's left. 

Diana picked up a dead twig off of the ground and tossed it in a high arc. As it exited their time bubble it slowed and hovered, approaching the vertex. As strange as it was watching something fall in slow motion, the slow-mo _rise_ was even more surreal. Yet the movement still felt _right_. Diana's gut-level sense of time was starting to kick in. Time was still moving in surreal ways, but it was moving exactly how Diana expected it to be. 

"Trippy," Cassie said. "You're the one doing _that_ then?" 

Diana sat down on a fallen log and crossed her arms, trying to look stern yet feeling rather pleased with herself. "I can give you several hours, but I'll warn you, I have _very little_ patience to spare. Why did you lie to Kyle about his ability?" 

Cassie shrugged. "The same reason most people do anything. Money." 

"Who paid you?" 

"It's complicated." 

"Marco, go get April." 

Diana intended it as a threat. Fully expected Cassie to beg for another chance to tell her story without the notorious April Skouris. Instead, Cassie nodded. "The truth lady my lawyer's been warning me about? Yeah, that might help." Diana's surprise must have shown, because she added, "I need you to believe me. This is a matter of life and death." 

Time normalized. The twig arced through the air and hit the ground. Diana nodded to Marco. "I won't bend time while you're gone so as not to affect you. Bring April back as quickly as you can." 

Marco disappeared. Cassie sat down on the log next to Diana. It felt comically casual given Cassie's announcement. "Whose life?" Diana prompted. 

"Kyle Baldwin," Cassie said. "I know he's kind of a dumbass, but he's a sweet dumbass and I don't want him to die. I would never have gotten involved in this if I thought anyone was going to die. I'll swear to that in front of your sister." 

Diana was trying to imagine the conversation Marco had when he teleported into the middle of Jed's Thanksgiving dinner. How many pleasantries would have to be exchanged before Marco convinced April to teleport off with him? Before she could give too much more thought to the delay, Marco returned holding hands with April on one side and Meghan on the other. 

Meghan shouldn't have been a surprise. If Diana were the boss, she certainly wouldn't let her theorists and agents teleport around without insisting on being in on it. 

"I imagine this only works face to face," Diana said to April, half a question. It would be so much easier if they didn't need to teleport Cassie.

"I've always needed eye contact," April said, gazing around the forest unable to see Cassie. Diana pointed to where Cassie appeared to her to be and April tossed out a token question. "Is the moon made of green cheese?"

Cassie shrugged and said, "Sure, okay, I'll go along with this. Yes, the moon is made of green cheese and populated by purple weasels. Yeah, apparently I can lie just fine if she can't see me."

"Marco, we're going to have to go get Cassie in person."

Knowing they couldn't see or hear her, Cassie ignored them all and turned to face Diana. "I'm only agreeing to this if you promise me that no one will be able to tell that you're there. If we get caught… I don't want Kyle to die, but I'm really not a big fan of dying myself either. Okay?" 

"I'll do my best," Diana said. The others had already released their grips and Meghan was starting to ask for a situation report, but she interrupted. "One more teleport. Everyone hold hands again." Assuming direct skin contact may be necessary, she placed one hand on the side of Marco's face. "Focus on Cassandra Dunleavy. We need to visit her in person. And we need to be very quiet." 

Sandra Dunleavy was slouched in an overstuffed chair, head lolled to one side as if she had fallen asleep. They appeared to be in a luxury suite, a view of downtown out the window signaling prime real estate. It was possibly a private apartment, but there were no personal items to suggest it was lived in. As she blinked herself awake, Cassie's mannerisms became recognizable in her face, but Diana still struggled to think of them as the same person. 

Cassie motioned them to silence as Meghan opened her mouth to ask a question. Glancing nervously around, she whispered, "Can you take me somewhere safe?" 

Diana nodded, but Marco backed away when the women moved toward him. "I don't think… three people were already a strain." 

It wasn't until he said it that Diana even thought to wonder if Marco had tried teleporting that many people before or not. "One at a time, if necessary." 

"Back to the woods?" 

"Jed Garrity's," Meghan announced firmly. Diana wondered if she had a reason or if it was just important for her to assert her authority, but one location was as good as the next. 

Marco took Meghan and April's hands and disappeared. He was apparently comfortable with two at a time. Cassie had bags under her eyes and sporadically flicked her eyes to the door. Marco returned in the next instant and whisked Cassie and Diana back to the party. 

"This is so cool," April said looking at the room full of time-locked people. Despite being inside one of Diana's time bubbles before, she'd never experienced the room-full-of-mannequins-effect. 

Director Meghan Doyle walked out of the side room, putting her coat on. "Officer Carmichael doesn't have clearance, and obviously, we don't want your daughter involved in this. However, I'm going to need all of my theorists and at least one Garrity. Backyard, now." 

Diana felt a burden lift as Meghan took charge. She shifted time around Slim, Brad, and Abigail. Based on his proximity to Abigail, she selected Cornflower as the requested Jed. 

"Long story," she announced. "Director Doyle is holding a briefing in the backyard." 

They followed her through the kitchen, weaving around frozen Garrities, making various exclamations of surprise—or in Brad's case, firing off questions about time dilation and quantum particles—though only Cornflower was bold enough to touch one of his other selves. 

Steps outside the kitchen's backdoor led up to a small yard that Jed shared with his upstairs neighbors, empty on this autumn afternoon. 

Slim and April both ducked back inside to get jackets. It seemed inappropriate given Cassie's life-or-death announcement. 

Meghan gave everyone a moment to settle. She cleared her throat and then turned the briefing over to Diana. None of the others had a hint that Meghan didn't actually know what was going on yet herself. 

"You all know, or at least know _of_ , Cassandra Dunleavy. She approached me with information about a threat to the life of Kyle Baldwin and has agreed to be questioned by April to prove the veracity of her statements." 

April approached Cassie who raised her right hand, which Diana hoped she didn't intend to be mocking. 

"Is it your intention to mislead us in any way?" April asked. 

"No. Kyle is in danger and I want you to help him." 

"In danger from?" 

"I don't know their real names." 

"Who paid you?" Diana asked. 

"Lumière. I _don't know_ their real names, but that was the name on the bank deposits. Lumière Blanca International. It means White Light." 

Diana wanted to snap _I know_ at her, but it didn't seem like the best way to get her to open up. 

"They had this book. _Made_ this book. It wasn't exactly a forgery. They actually went back in time. It really was this old book, but… it wasn't really prophetic. They just wrote what they wanted to happen and my job was to convince Kyle that it was _supposed_ to happen. I _don't know_ a lot of details. They just—look, it was good money and they claimed they were the good guys and it kind of felt like it was only a game." 

"When did you realize it wasn't just a game?" Diana asked. 

"Well, when half the city died that was kind of a big fucking clue. Yeah, I'd say when half my friends died." 

"Are the Marked behind Lumière Blanca International?" Diana asked. 

"I don't know what that means." 

Diana glanced at April, who rephrased, "Were you working for the Marked?" 

"I don't know. What does that even mean?" 

"There are two main factions in the future," Diana said. "Let's risk oversimplifying for the moment and call them the good guys and the bad guys." 

"Bad guys," Cassie said, not even waiting for the question. "It's not like they introduced themselves with 'Hello, we are the Evil Society of Bad Guys', but with 20/20 hindsight, definitely bad guys, but I didn't know that at the time." 

"But you knew they were from the future?" April asked. 

"Not at first, but, yeah, eventually I started to work that out. They didn't ever explain anything to me, but as time went on they were less careful about talking to each other in front of me. They'd get frustrated when things weren't working out and argue and then things would slip." 

That was good news at least. 

"Did they ever mention quantum superpositions or Markov chains?" Brad asked. 

"Say what now?" Cassie gawped at him. 

"Is this a multi-verse scenario or is free will a limiting factor?" Brad's voice was getting faster as he tossed out questions. Marco tried tugging at his elbow to get him to stand down, but Brad didn't even seem to notice. "We've been assuming the advantage is to the future scientists, because _obviously_ they know more than we do, but knowledge still doesn't change _physics_. What if this is locked-loop time travel and they don't have free will because _we still do_? It all becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy at that point." 

"Their actions clearly rule out a locked-loop scenario," Abigail said. 

Slim interrupted, "But if it's a quantum superposition of _multiple_ —" 

"Or both," Brad said. "We don't have to assume the same rules apply to different technology." 

"But the same rules have to apply to the universe at large, regardless," Slim protested. 

Even Diana lost the thread of the discussion at that point. Letting the theorists out of the basement was _so_ rarely a good idea. 

April squinted. "Sorry, uh, Brent? _What_ are you thinking about the future?" 

"My name is Brad. I think we should get married and have babies." 

"Okay, that's sweet, but that wasn't what I meant." 

Meghan clapped her hands for attention. "Let's put a pin in that, Brad. Ms. Dunleavy still had important information, I believe." 

"Okay, so there's this cult of the White Light that they started by going back in time and writing a 'prophetic' book. I think they're sincere, like the people who are in the cult now actually believe it means something, but Lumière Blanca still keeps tabs on them. So, when Kyle showed up yelling and demanding answers—" 

"Because of course he did," Diana muttered under her breath. 

"—they got him." 

" _They_ got him?" April asked. 

"The bad guys," Cassie said with an exasperated huff. "They have Kyle. _And me._ Not at the same place. I was in this apartment my lawyer set up, but I heard them talking about _getting rid_ of Kyle. That sounded ominous so I 'visited' him to make sure he's okay and he's _really not_. They've got him tied up and gagged so he couldn't tell me what was going on. They're taking him out in a lake. I'm not sure, but I think he might already be dead. And I don't want him to be dead. I like Kyle. He's cute." The words tumbled out of her in a frantic rush.

"Highland Beach?" Meghan suggested. 

"There are countless lakes, but that's where I'd start," Diana agreed. She turned to April and said, "Let's wrap this up." 

"Is there anything else that you haven't told us that affects Kyle Baldwin's safety or a plot against NTAC?" April asked Cassie. 

"Oh, I don't think they're plotting _against_ NTAC," Cassie said. 

"Excuse me?" Meghan said. 

"They're kind of fans actually." 

"We're the bad guys?" Abigail squeaked. 

"Twenty bucks!" Brad said. 

"Not now!" Marco hushed him. "You think the conspiracy comes from _inside_ the government? From inside NTAC itself?"

"Maybe not NTAC," Cassie said, "but something Homeland Security _becomes_ in the future. Serious Orwellian dystopia vibes coming from the guys who claim to know the future."

"Serious Orwellian dystopia vibes coming from the people who claim to know the present," Brad muttered. "Honestly, if you name something _Secret Service_ , you're just planning for it to end dark."

"Okay, plan," Meghan said raising her voice over Slim and Brad's continued discussion about historical inflection points. "Skouris and Pacella are going to take Ms. Dunleavy back to her apartment." 

"What?" Cassie squeaked. "I'm helping you. You can't send me back to the bad guys. What if I'm the next one getting dumped in the lake?" 

"You have a hearing on Monday, where they expect all charges to be dropped. You're safe until then." 

"That whole 'they can't kill you before the hearing' thing isn't as reassuring as you might think." 

Diana opened her mouth, but Meghan spoke first. "If all goes to plan, you won't have to leave with them after the hearing. Just keep it together this weekend and don't let on that you've spoken to us. You think you can do that?" 

"Can I at least get some turkey and pie?" 

Meghan rolled her eyes, but she waved at Jed. 

"Come on," he said. "I'll get you a to-go plate." 

Diana felt a compulsion to apologize to Meghan for the chaos and had to physically clamp her teeth together to fight it. It was hard to keep people focused and on topic when their sense of urgency was taken away, but that was hardly Diana's fault. 

"Skouris and Pacella will take Ms. Dunleavy back to her apartment," Meghan began again. "From there, get Tom Baldwin and fill him in on what we know. I want him fully briefed before you bring him here. Got it?" 

Diana felt slightly contrite that she and Marco had only been combining their powers for trysts. Time-bending teleportation definitely had more potential for tactical applications than just slipping away for personal time. 

Cassie returned from the kitchen with a plate of Thanksgiving leftovers covered in clingwrap in one hand and an unwrapped slice of pecan pie in the other. 

"Ready?" Marco asked, taking Diana's hand. 

Cassie approached hesitantly. "And you promise to rescue me as soon as the hearing is over?"

"I promise," Marco said.

Cassie nodded hesitantly. 

Meghan tapped her own forehead and added, "And feel free to stay in touch in the meantime." 

Cassie brightened slightly at the invitation. "Okay, ready." 

They followed Meghan's orders precisely, dropping off Cassie and picking up Tom with the requisite briefing. Diana wished she could have fast-forwarded _herself_ through the part where they explained things to Tom. He did not take things well. His son's abduction, and possible murder, was being carried out while everyone was casually milling around Jed's backyard, nibbling at Thanksgiving leftovers. 

Meghan held up a hand to forestall Tom's questions. "Okay, Garrity, I need you to brief yourself. Skouris." 

She did not follow Diana's name with any order, but the meaning was clear as she waved in Jed's direction. 

Diana followed Jed inside and expanded the time field around them to include the other Garrities. Only Carmichael and Maia remained frozen in time in the corner of the living room. "Meet you back outside," she said, leaving Jed to sort himselves out.

"Tom, I'm trusting that you can stay professional," Meghan said. The fact that she called him Tom when everyone else had been shifted to last name status suggested Meghan herself had a slight problem following her own directive. 

"I'm ready," Tom snarled, which did the opposite of reassuring Diana but it seemed enough for Meghan. 

Diana envied Jed's ability to _brief_ himself without a word and she expected a single united Garrity to exit the apartment. Instead, a rainbow of Garrities staggered up the stairs, each looking slightly ill. 

"He can only teleport two people at a time comfortably," Meghan told them. "You'll have to…" 

The Garrities all shook their heads and before Meghan could even finish, Yellow doubled over and puked in the bushes. 

"Reintegrating on a full stomach doesn't work so well," Purple-Echo explained. No, Diana corrected herself. He'd just be Purple now if he'd reintegrated even briefly with his other selves. Or they were all Echo. 

Green seemed to read her mind. "I'm an advanced philosophy course on the meaning of self," he observed, an echo of Echo visible in his eyes. Yet Orange bounced on his heels, taking position next to Tom, ready for duty, untroubled by Echo's memories. Of course, she realized, with a physical limitation of overfilled stomach capacity, they wouldn't have all reintegrated at once. Jed would have integrated with one other self and then they would split and each integrate with one other. Echo most likely waited to go last. 

"Actually, even two at a time is starting to be a bit much," Marco said, sounding more tired than he looked. 

"Just one more jump with two of us," Diana said. 

Marco nodded. "So, Highland Beach? Evanston?" 

"Don't worry about the where. Focus on the who. Take Tom and me to Kyle Baldwin. If you've still got the strength, come back for Jed." 

Meghan nodded and added the official, "Go." 

It wasn't the wet that staggered her so much as the overwhelming cold. She flailed, disoriented with no ground beneath her and so chilled through that within seconds she couldn't feel her own fingers. Marco was supposed to take them to Kyle _at_ the lake, not _in_ the damn lake! She heard gasping and splashing at her side. She couldn't differentiate between Tom and Marco, but then Tom's unmistakable voice bellowed out, "Kyle! Kyle!" 

She didn't even realize the shock of hitting the water had caused her to lose her grasp on the time stream until the bullets started whizzing by and she pulled herself together. Two armed men were standing on the beach aiming their weapons. One bullet was sending up an arching splash of water, two more were mid-air, one of which looked like it had a direct line on Marco's head. 

"Marco! Go get Jed!" Even her lips were numb and the words came out thick and, she feared, incomprehensible. "Aim for the beach behind them!" 

Marco vanished from the water and she prayed he understood. With time frozen, he wouldn't be able to tell Jed about the men with the guns. 

Tom was still yelling for Kyle behind her, but she saw no sign of the younger Baldwin. 

She splashed and staggered her way to land, shuddering violently, but not dead—yet. There was no warmth to be found on shore in late November, but it was at least less painfully frigid and she allowed herself a few moments to catch her breath. Tom's desperate cries for his missing son assured her that he was still alive, though her hope for Kyle was fading. There was a rowboat pulled up on shore next to the gunmen. If they'd had time to row back to shore after dumping the body, it was too much time. Even if Kyle had been alive when he went over the side, he couldn't possibly still be now. 

Marco did not return with Jed and she realized that out of her sphere of influence, he would be as locked in time as everyone else. No one was going to save the day but Diana. 

She slowly got up, tripped over her own feet, and slouched against the first gunman. If he'd been able to put up any kind of fight at all, she would have been doomed. She could barely hold her own against his statue. She fumbled the gun away from him. She had to clutch it between both hands, her fingers too numb to get a proper grip, and she wondered distantly if she was burning her hands on the barrel even though she couldn't feel a thing. She flung it into the water, out of sight if not reach, and moved to disarm the second gunmen. 

She paused to yell back to the water, "Tom!" as if she might actually get through to him. If it were her—if that were Maia underneath the glacial water—would _she_ listen to reason? 

She knocked away the second weapon with even less grace than the first. This was stupid. This was a stupid, stupid, stupid way to die. She was going to die of stupid. The hypothermia was sucking away all of her thoughts. She was freezing to death when it wasn't even freezing. 

She focused on that. It's _not_ freezing. The weather report had been very clear. Cool and dry, clear skies, and temperatures peaking in the mid-forties. The day had started a degree below the freezing mark causing her to entertain the possibility of snow, but it was _not_ freezing now, no matter what her nerve endings told her. It was the snowmelt lake. It was the water, her wet clothing. 

She tore off her clothes, praying she wasn't deluded. _This isn't the paradoxical undressing of hypothermia. This is rational._ She thought. Even as she doubted herself, the sun on her bare skin began to return life to her body. She pulled off her wet underwear and tried to do the same with her bra, but her fingers were not up to such detail work. 

"Tom! Get out of the water! You can't save him if you're dead!" 

She'd never know if she finally got through to him or if a self-preservation instinct took over, steering Tom's body to shore without his direction. 

He'd been in the water longer than she had, but he had Diana to help him. "We have to get you dry," she said, but she began pulling off his clothing without waiting for permission. Tom neither fought nor helped. Her brain supplied inappropriate jokes about the cold as she pulled down Tom's underwear, but she had the sense not to repeat them aloud. 

"On your feet," she ordered. "Stand up. The cold ground is as bad as wet clothes." 

Diana wrestled her bra off over her head without undoing the hooks and flung it with unnecessary anger into the bushes, which she regretted immediately. She wasn't sure where she'd thrown the rest of her clothing either and she'd need to put it back on eventually. 

"Time has stopped," Tom said, as if he had only just noticed. "So, so, it's stopped for Kyle as well. We can still save him." 

"Tom, help isn't coming if I don't resync time." 

"Give me a minute," Tom said. He began pacing the beach, shaking warmth back into his hands. "There. Do you see that? The far side of the ripples. That's where Marco teleported us when he was focusing on Kyle, so that's where Kyle is." 

Tom moved as if he planned to run right back into the water. "Tom, for God's sake! We have a boat." She pointed at the boat. It wasn't much of a boat, but it was a hell of a lot better than going for another swim. 

"Right. Right." 

Together they pushed the boat out into the lake and climbed in. Her hands hurt as the feeling returned. The pain was reassuring in a way. Tom took the oars once they were in open water. She couldn't fully process the sight of naked rowing Tom Baldwin, beautiful and tragic and comical all at once. The water around them flowed normally even as it stilled to solidity a short distance away. 

Once they were in position, Tom went over the side with only the barest hint of hesitation. Diana winced. "Don't you fucking die on me, Tom," she ordered as he took a breath and went under. 

She knew the lake was deep in places, too deep to ever retrieve a body, but they were in luck. The henchmen had been sloppy and hadn't rowed out far enough. It took only two tries and the second time he resurfaced, Tom was dragging Kyle with him. 

Diana reached over the side to help, putting extra focus on the time dilation making sure Kyle's timestream remained slow even as they hauled him into the boat. It was almost certainly too late, but if Tom wasn't going to give up yet, she wasn't going to let him down. Kyle was bound hand and foot and was so gray that his skin was almost blue. His open eyes were dilated wide. 

Diana had to man the oars for the return trip, Tom too chilled to be of help. Chilled and distraught. By the time she got them back to shore, Tom had too much time to stare at his son's lifeless form. He managed with considerable effort to remove Kyle's bonds, which gave him the opportunity to examine the bruises where Kyle had struggled. 

At the shoreline, Diana leaped from the boat to drag it the last stretch out of the water. Tom only clutched Kyle to him and began sobbing. Diana opted to give him a moment. 

In a belated stab at modesty, she relieved one of the gunmen of his jacket. It was a lightweight windbreaker that hit Diana mid-thigh and left her still feeling exposed. The other man was wearing a short denim jacket that she tossed to Tom when she retrieved the ropes that had been used to tie Kyle. Tom didn't even move to cover himself, only faintly whispering, "Diana?" She wasn't sure what specifically he was pleading for. 

"I'm going to return us to the timestream in a moment," she said as she tied one of the men's hands behind his back. "Marco will teleport back as soon as that happens and then we'll send him for help. He can bring back Matt. Or Shawn. Shawn might be better in a… a lifeforce situation. Matt is better with injuries. Is he injured? Tom, is Kyle injured? Or is it just the cold and the water?" 

The questions seemed to shake Tom out of it. "I don't see any injuries other than bruising on his wrists and ankles. I think he just—" Tom's voice broke. He took a deep breath and started over. "I think he just drowned." 

"Okay, that sounds like Shawn's kind of thing," Diana said, finishing typing up the second gunman. "I'm going to resync us with normal time. Are you ready?" 

It was more of an emotional than a practical question. As long as Kyle _couldn't_ have a pulse because he was suspended in time, Tom wouldn't have to face the reality that he _didn't_ have a pulse because he'd drown before they even got there. 

Tom cradled Kyle's head and then nodded to Diana. 

She was careful to keep the gunmen locked in their bubble as, for the rest of the world, time moved normally again. 

Kyle sat up and pushed Tom away, water pouring from his mouth. "Dude?!" he gurgled. He didn't cough or choke or gasp for breath. He just spat out the extra water and demanded, "Why are you naked?! Gross!" 

"Kyle?" Diana bit back her question, _why aren't you dead?_ , and instead asked, "How long were you underwater?" 

"Forever," Kyle said just as Marco returned with Jed. Diana held up a hand to hold off their questions. Marco was dripping wet and shivering. Kyle was soaked through and blue-skinned, but he didn't even tremble. "Like maybe twenty minutes," he continued, still frowning at his naked father. 

"How?" Tom asked. Embarrassment finally kicking in, Tom pulled the spare jacket into his lap. 

"I'm fucking Aquaman," Kyle said sounding awed himself. 

The hypothermia had done a number on her brainpower. It took Diana a solid three seconds before she registered that Kyle wasn't talking about his sex life. Maybe the same joke occurred to Tom or maybe he was just hysterical, but he started laughing and Diana followed suit. 

"Yeah, well, whose fault is that?" Kyle asked a spot over his left shoulder. 

Diana was still fighting off irrational giggles, but managed to say, "Tell Cassie 'thanks'. She's the one who sent us to rescue you." 

"Really?" he said, giving his invisible friend the side-eye. 

Tom nodded. "I guess drowning wasn't really a threat, but you could have starved to death out here before we realized you were in danger." 

"Thanks, I guess," Kyle mumbled. 

"Who gave the order to have you killed?" Tom asked. "Why did they do this?"

Kyle shrugged and asked the air, "You tell me. I was asking the cult people about _you_ and the next thing I know I'm in the trunk of a car… I don't know… as if! Wait, really?" Kyle turned to his father. "Is she lying again?"

"K-kyle, I don't even know what sh-she's saying," Tom stuttered, the cold hitting him as the adrenaline wore off.

"Don't say things like that! That's my _Dad_!" Kyle shouted at the air and then asked again, "Why are you _naked_?"

Jed looked around and told Marco, "I think you should go and bring back some dry clothes for everyone. Okay?" 

Marco dropped to his knees. "How about you splinter off extras?" he panted, pulling off his own wet shirt. "I'm done."

♥…—…—…—…♥


	16. Diana Goes to Court (Also, More Frogs)

♥…—…—…—…♥

Meghan, April, and Diana made themselves as comfortable as possible in Bartholomew Jones's small living room while their host fussed over serving them tea. The two gunmen were locked in time, seated back to back. Their hands were zip-tied to the posts of the wooden kitchen chairs. They weren't perceptibly moving which made the zip-ties redundant, but it made everyone else feel better. 

"A case can be made that we're not holding them for more then 48 hours if they aren't _aware_ of more than a few hours of time passing," Meghan said. 

"Do you really buy that?" April asked.

"God, no," Meghan sighed wearily. "A judge might though. You never know what's going to fly, but a case _can_ be made. There's always the chance the perps won't realize how long they've been out of commission, so it's still likely to work out. "

Meghan wanted the gunmen on ice until after the hearing and she didn't want Washington to know about it. That ruled out NTAC custody and any of the more official safehouse channels. Cassie had suggested Peaceful Passion. It wasn't a terrible suggestion, but the connection between Cassie and Kyle was too obvious for anyone in the know. 

Sometimes you needed to call in more obscure favors. 

The home of Bart Jones gave Diana with willies, but it was Meghan's idea—more accurately, her directive, so it wasn't like Diana could say no. She did her best to ignore the amphibious ambiance and be patient as Meghan read over Diana's handwritten notes yet again. 

"His name is Norbert," Bart supplied helpfully. 

Diana squinted at the frog suspiciously. Or was it a toad? What was the technical difference? She was sure there was one, but she wasn't sure whether it was a biological or etymological distinction.  

"He _told_ you his name is Norbert?" April asked. 

"Well, no. He told me his name was 'me', but…" Bart shrugged and gestured vaguely around his living room. "They all say that." 

Diana had never had any particular revulsion to frogs, but so many of them scattered around in the man's living room were unnerving. 

Norbert seemed to be staring at her. There was something disconcerting about his glassy unblinking eyes.

To be fair, Bart seemed even more unnerved by the two live statues strapped to his kitchen chairs in the corner of the room. They'd identified the gunmen as general for-hire thugs with no known connection to the 4400 or the Marked. April had already verified they didn't know anything about conspiracies from the future. 

They could make a solid attempted murder case, but not without publicly admitting that Kyle had survived and the only hope of tripping up the real villains was through complacency. If they thought no one was on to them, they might slip up. Keeping them slowed down for a few days seemed their best option.

"Do I actually have to come right out and ask what the plan is?" April folded her arms and waited, which showed considerably more control than Diana was accustomed to seeing in her sister. 

"Yes," Diana said, unable to bite back the word. 

Meghan glanced at Bart who was pretending not to eavesdrop while feeding his fish a few steps away. Diana nodded and the tumbling flakes of fish food slowed to a sparkling hover. Bart could no longer listen in.

"I'm not sure what strings he pulled, but Monday's hearing is with a senior federal judge. They've bypassed the county courts entirely." 

"I know that already," April interrupted. "Washington's trying to dig up dirt on him, but the guy is ancient. So far all he's got is stuff that would have barely been scandalous forty years ago." 

"Wait," Diana said. "Back up. He's trying to dig up dirt on the judge. Just, straight-up trying to blackmail the  _judge_?" 

April and Meghan both shrugged. 

"You expected this?" Diana asked Meghan. 

"Counted on it, actually. This hearing is ostensibly _two_ hearings. Sandra Dunleavy and Christopher Landry. Two completely unrelated cases, but neither of them is really what's at issue. This hearing is about April." 

"Say what now?" April said. 

"Washington wants the judge to rule that April's ability should be admissible in court and that abilities, in general, don't fall under traditional laws. He basically wants the judge to rule that the government can make use of citizens' abilities at will. And they're bringing in the big guns. Victoria Thomas, top government lawyer and—probably not a coincidence—Agent Washington's wife." 

April's hand went to her mouth and her eyes flashed in realization. "And he's going to throw Sandra Dunleavy under the bus in order to get Christopher Landry released into his custody." 

"How do you figure?" Diana asked. 

"He gave me a _very specific_ list of questions for Landry. I'm not allowed to veer from the list. And all of it is badly-worded stuff that he can answer without technically lying. 'Was your primary motivation to cause harm?' That sort of thing. Whereas Dunleavy's supposed to answer broad questions like, 'Have you ever broken the law?' He's also hoping I can slip in an incriminating question for the judge so that the hearing transcripts stay classified." 

"Perfect," Meghan said and, to Diana's surprise, she sounded genuine. 

"Perfect?" Diana repeated. 

Meghan smiled and something clicked in Diana's head. 

"Okay, yeah, that could work. Sometimes the arrogant bastards are the easiest to trip. They don't see it coming." 

"Can I take these with me?" Meghan asked, packing up Diana's handwritten notes. At Diana's nod, she added, "Thank you. I think these will be very helpful. If you'll excuse me, I have places to be."

Not that Diana didn't, but she was required here. 

"I'll take babysitter duty," April said. "No need to worry about Maia." 

They were quickly approaching the point where Maia was the more responsible one so Diana wasn't _too_ worried. 

Meghan and April both gathered their things to leave. 

Bart rejoined their time stream only mildly disconcerted that two of his visitors had seemingly teleported across the room. "Yes, that was rather odd," Bart told one of his goldfish, "but, then again, we live in odd times." 

"The fish talk to you as well?" Diana asked. "Can you talk to all animals?"

"Aquatic and semi-aquatic species only, I'm afraid. The fish speak even more clearly than the frogs," Bart said and then added in a whisper, "but I'm afraid they never have anything interesting to say." 

"I suppose an aquarium is rather dull. Have you tried talking to fish in the wild?" 

He nodded solemnly. "It's rather depressing. All they do is complain. They're happy that most of the water near the original Promise City has been decontaminated, but there's still an excess of plastic in the water." 

"If you could make a note of the worst locations, I can see what I can do," Meghan said. "It would be nice to be able to do something productive this weekend." 

Meghan took down the information and left in a brighter mood. 

Diana nearly envied her the distraction and then remembered there was no reason that she had to sit around being anxious all weekend. 

She angled one of the chairs so it clearly faced the gunmen in the corner. "Please don't mind me," she said, "and remember, you cannot tell anyone we were here." 

"I know nothing," Bart agreed. "With the understanding that you know nothing."

She hadn't exactly agreed to make his records disappear. That wouldn't have been in his best interest anyway. Having amnesty on record would keep him out of trouble if he ever turned up on NTAC radar. But she could make sure his record was only flagged with benign keywords, not that it was likely to attract those in power anyway. Tom's initial report of "frogs" was going to stand after all. 

Diana took her seat and watched the shadows slide across the floor. Frogs occasionally hopped over her feet and once onto her lap. At some point, Bart wandered back and attempted to offer her a cup of coffee, but by the time she figured out what his gestures meant, he'd given up on catching her attention. 

When the first light dawned on Monday morning, she stood back up and checked her messages. Nothing. Well, nothing from anyone other than Marco. 

"I miss you." There was a long pause before he added, "Yeah, I guess that's it. Um, bye." 

Diana was strangely touched considering from her perspective she'd seen Marco a little over an hour before. She even considered returning his call, but she would see Marco soon enough. 

She called Jed. 

"I'm hoping you'd be willing to cover me here. Can you spot me a couple of short straws?" Diana asked. "I really want to see this hearing first hand." 

Jed even drove her to the courthouse. He left behind four copies of himself so the gunmen were solidly outnumbered. Jed wasn't terribly useful in a fight, but four of him _looked_ pretty intimidating. When the gunmen resynced with normal time, which would be inevitable once Diana left, the Garrities would have the situation in hand. 

Unlike _some_  people, Jed appreciated Diana's traffic-bending talent. It wasn't quite as instantaneous as Marco's teleportation, but they still got to the courthouse with time to spare.  

"I need to carpool with you from now on," Jed said as she pulled into the parking lot.  

The visitor lot was inconveniently far from the courthouse, but it gave them a nice leisurely walk. Watching birds fly in slow-motion was becoming one of Diana's favorite things. 

"Meghan seems confident this is going to go well?" Jed asked. 

"Confident and optimistic are not quite the same thing. I'm not even sure anyone is truly 'optimistic' about this hearing, but it's our last real shot. If we lose this battle…" Diana took a deep calming breath. "Well, we'll deal with that if we have to." 

Diana used her time advantage to beat Jed to the door, holding it open for him. It was a new hobby, watching men react to the chivalrous gesture. To their credit, most accepted it as a common courtesy, Jed being no exception, but a young man a few steps behind him was lost in a fit of _after-yous_ until Diana gave up and went in, allowing the door to close a little too quickly behind her. 

Diana had never been in this building before. The hearing was technically open to the public (closing it to the public was the first point the judge would decide), but it was effectively confidential just by virtue of its obscure location and unpublicized timing. Few in the general public had any idea a judge was about to decide whether Washington (the government) had the right to use abilities as Washington (the man) saw fit. 

NTAC was well represented: Meghan and Tom sat near the front with a man Diana didn't recognize, April and Washington were at the lawyer's table with a woman Diana didn't recognize. The crew from the theory room were in the back row trying to look inconspicuous, but the room was mostly empty so there was no crowd to hide behind. 

On the defendant's side, Dumbass-the-Lawyer and his associate were sitting at the front table, but both Cassandra Dunleavy and Christopher Landry were behind the bar in the gallery. Cassie looked nervous, but Landry looked nauseatingly smug. 

Diana was torn between sitting in the back near Marco and the theory team, which was certain to provide the more interesting commentary on the proceedings, or near the front with Meghan and Tom. Jed chose both options and settled in next to Abigail in the back row and just behind Meghan in the second row. Diana offered Marco a nod as she passed, but made the professional choice to sit near her boss and work partner. 

In Diana's experience, courthouses in America ranged from opulent to ordinary. There was one uptown that was all marble and polished hardwood that reminded Diana of the original regal meaning of _court_. The federal courthouse felt more like a downmarket church with economic pine pews for the peanut gallery and mundane office chairs for the lawyers and defendants. However, _this_ hearing room was another step down. It had a public-school vibe instead. The room was claustrophobically small. The linoleum floors had the permanent grime of decades of wear and the movie-theater-style seats were bolted to the floor. The vinyl padding was cracked and gave every seat a built-in whoopie cushion. It was a sign of her anxiety that she didn't even giggle at the inevitable conclusion to, "All rise," at the judge's entrance. 

"You will not believe who the lady lawyer is," Tom whispered into Diana's ear as the courtroom settled.  

Diana could not believe Tom had actually used the phrase _lady lawyer_. She attempted to give him a disapproving scowl, but Tom remained as oblivious to her as to Meghan rubbing her temples at his other side. Jed got up without actually leaving his seat and slipped around to sit on Diana's other side. 

"She's Washington's wife," Jed whispered. 

"I heard," she whispered back. The woman had the same polished artificiality as Washington. They looked like a couple. She was Barbie to his Ken. Washington had even mentioned having a wife once, hadn't he? And yet… The idea that Washington had any kind of personal connection to another human being still felt improbable... She'd never even seriously entertained that his real name was Washington. 

"Victoria Thomas," Jed added just as the judge invited Ms. Thomas to present her case. 

"Your Honor," Victoria Thomas began, "we realize it's not standard to call witnesses in hearings like this, but it's imperative that these proceedings be closed to the general public and I believe a demonstration from April Skouris will make that clear." 

The judge glared over his glasses and sighed. "I believe the court already has a statement on file from Miss Skoweriz," he said shuffling through the papers in front of him. Diana gritted her teeth. She could forgive the mispronunciation if he were reading the name, but he'd _just_ heard it said correctly. 

"A demonstration—" Ms. Thomas began, but the judge cut her off. 

"—would be interesting," he said. "Agreed." 

April stood and the entire courtroom tensed. This was the moment it all hinged on. If Washington had managed to dig up something on the judge, this was the moment it would all come out. 

April was sworn in as if anything _she_ said was going to matter. 

"To be clear, nothing said under the influence of Miss Skoweriz's _Truth_ Power will be considered evidence at this time," he said, sounding both bored and unconvinced that April had any such ability. 

Before Victoria Thomas could form a lead-in, April turned to the judge and asked, "Did you just mispronounce my name _on purpose_?" 

"I like to antagonize people," he said with a nod. "It throws witnesses off their game." He blinked and then added, "Okay, you're good." 

Washington cleared his throat meaningfully. April was off-script. 

"There was an incident involving alcohol," Victoria Thomas prompted. "I believe the year was 1982." 

The judge frowned even more than normal. Something was ringing a bell. 

"Are you trying to blackmail the judge with an old DUI?" April asked. 

Victoria gasped but otherwise remained silent. 

Because April wasn't looking at _her_ when she asked. 

"Yes," Washington said. "Although _leverage_ would be a much better word," he added, instantly spinning damage control. 

"Do you often do illegal or immoral things to get what you want?" April asked him. 

"Of course. All the time. Your Honor, I object!" 

Diana wished she had the judge's view of the courtroom. She would have given anything to see Washington's face.

"Do me again," the judge said to April. "Ask about 1982." 

April shrugged. "Did you drive drunk in 1982 and then use your power as a judge to avoid charges." 

"Probably," the judge said. "I honestly don't remember a thing about that night, but waking up and learning the police had given me a private escort home was the kick in the butt I needed to get into A.A." 

"Is that the sort of thing you'd normally talk about in court?" April asked.

"Hell, no, but I'm not feeling particularly blackmailable about it either." The judge stared meaningfully at Washington for several uncomfortable seconds and said, "These proceedings will remain unsealed and stay a matter of public record." 

"Excellent." April turned her attention back to Washington. "Is it your intention to use a rapist's mind-control abilities to coerce people, possibly including future sexual assault?" 

"Yes, but I wouldn't be the one doing the assaulting." He grabbed at his wife's elbow and hissed, "Stop this!"

"Your Honor—" Victoria tried to protest. 

April's face glowed. She finally had the upper hand and she was enjoying this. Washington was about to regret every snide remark he'd ever made. "Are you doing all of these awful things to protect the country and the values of freedom that it stands for or are you doing these awful things to further your career?" 

"My career." Washington stood and moved toward the exit.  

Improbably, it was Brad who stepped into the aisle to block his retreat. "I don't think the Lasso of Truth is quite done with you." 

"Did you know anything about Kyle being tied up and dumped in a lake?" 

"No. What?" He looked genuinely confused, but he was still edging toward the door.

This time it was Greg-the-Lawyer who jumped to his feet. "Your Honor, the murder of Kyle Baldwin has no bearing on either of the cases on today's docket." 

"Who the hell is Kyle Baldwin?" the judge asked, shuffling through his papers again. 

As the judge struggled to keep up, Diana was struck by how suspiciously quickly Greg-the-Lawyer processed the information and had immediately known which Kyle April had been talking about.

April had also noticed. She redirected the question to Greg Spencer. "Did _you_ know anything about Kyle being dumped in the lake?" 

"I had nothing to do with that until after the fact and I told them it was a stupid idea and _none of this is admissible_!" 

"So, you'd be genuinely surprised if I told you Kyle is still alive?" 

"Yes. What?" 

April turned her attention back to Washington, "Why did you needlessly endanger NTAC employees, getting two of them shot in the process of a training exercise? "

"Because I wanted to see if I could use any of their abilities. It wasn't a big deal. Only one person died and he was replaceable."

Victoria Thomas sat down heavily. "Jesus Christ." 

Meghan said something to the man at her side, but Diana was just far enough away that she couldn't make any of it out.

"Lasso of Truth!" Brad called out. "Now would be a good time for the kill shot." 

"Mr. Washington, how often do you lie to your wife?" 

"Every day. Fuck me!" 

"I wish I'd made popcorn," Diana laughed. 

"Ask them about the Marked!" Brad shouted. 

"Do you have personal knowledge of the Marked or any other conspiracy against the citizens of this country?" 

"No," Washington answered. 

"Really?" April pouted. Diana for one had been hoping that would be the final nail in his coffin. "You're not part of a conspiracy against freedom?" 

"No," Washington said, straightening his tie. 

"So… you're just… a dick?" April asked

"Yes." He glanced around the courtroom and to Diana's annoyance, he didn't even look ashamed of the admission. She had an uncomfortable feeling he was actually going to be able to wriggle out of this. There were no laws against being an incompetent boss and a dick.

"Ask him about what happened at my cousin's wedding," Victoria said, jumping back to her feet. 

April turned to Greg-the-Lawyer, "Do _you_ have personal knowledge of the Marked or any other conspiracy against the citizens of this country?" 

"Yes, but only because they paid me a lot of money and _none of this is admissible_." 

The judge glanced at the paperwork in front of him. "We've got two cases here that don't even look like they're related with a motion to place both individuals in the care of Homeland Security as an alternative to imprisonment."   
    
"Three if you count me," April said. "I only work for Washington because they said they'd put me in prison if I didn't use my ability at their discretion." She turned to Washington and added, "Are you planning to put me in prison now?" 

"You should be so lucky. You're looking at full-on torture. Fuck it!"

"Ask him about that bridesmaid!" Victoria grabbed her husband and dragged him forward. 

Diana startled when Tom lept to his feet at her side. "Ask me about their kids!" 

Another judge would have been banging his gavel and demanding order at this point, but the judge just sighed and leaned on one hand. "Is there a scorecard somewhere that will help me keep track?" 

"That's Tom Baldwin," April explained. "Also, someone tried to kill his son Kyle and the rapist's lawyer seems to know something about it and if it's not too much trouble could you rule that Washington isn't allowed to torture me for exposing him as a creep?" 

"The kid's guilty?" the judge asked.

"Is Landry guilty?" April asked Greg-the-Lawyer.

"Totally," Greg-the-Lawyer said. He didn't even bother to follow it up with _not admissible_. He just flailed helplessly. 

The judge nodded. "Strike that last bit from the record," he told the stenographer. "I'm going to deny the motion to place Mr. Landry in NTAC custody. I'm going to recommend the pre-trial hearing be rescheduled with the county. This doesn't appear to be a federal matter. You're probably going to want a different lawyer, young man, this one's going to be occupied with his own problems." He paused as he flipped through the notes before him. "I don't think I even understand the charges against Ms. Dunleavy." 

"I was helping!" Cassie said. "I saved Kyle's life! And I didn't even do anything wrong! I didn't know they were evil people trying to manipulate the future!" 

"April, ask me about their kids!" Tom said. "She'll believe me if you ask me." 

"Tom's ability is to see the genetics of people's future offspring," she added for the judge's benefit. "What about their kids?" 

"They're going to be abnormal. Sociopathic. Holy terrors. Ms. Thomas and Agent Washington should definitely not have kids." 

Victoria recoiled from her husband in disgust. 

"Lasso of Truth!" Brad cheered. 

"Did you bang a bridesmaid at her cousin's wedding?" 

"Just oral." 

The judge gave up and turned to face April. "Is Ms. Eyeliner guilty of anything?"

"Too open-ended," April muttered and rephrased the question, "Ms. Dunleavy, were you knowingly breaking the law with harmful intent when you used your ability to trick Kyle Baldwin?" 

"No! It was just a funny prank that they were paying me for. I thought it was a win-win. I get paid. Nobody gets hurt. And it was funny for a while until they got weird."   
    
"Does anyone actually want to press charges against Ms. Dunleavy?" the judge asked, but the federal prosecutor was still screaming at her husband. "In that case, I'm vacating all charges against Sandra Dunleavy. And what was the charge hanging over your head, Ms. Skouris?" 

"Illegal promicin use," April said with an apologetic smile. 

"Ah. I take it you were guilty?" 

"Yes, sir," she said quietly. 

"Do you promise to use your powers only for good?" 

April nodded. "I've been thinking about opening up a holistic therapy center. Y'know, with like yoga and anger management classes combined with Honesty Sessions." 

"That sounds like a valid business model. In that case, I find you guilty." 

"Oh!" 

"And sentence you to sixty hours of community service." With a grin, he added, "They can't try you again once you've already been convicted. The appellate court wouldn't give them the time of day if they tried. Ms. Thomas, I'm afraid the United States District Court for the Western District of Washington does not hear divorce cases, so I believe that is the end of our business together. Court is adjourned. I'm going to need some coffee before I can wrap my head around the rest of my day's agenda."

The man sitting next to Meghan was on his cell phone the moment the judge banged the gavel.

"Yes!" Brad leaped to his feet and tried to high-five the rest of the theory team, but they were a little slow getting to their feet which ruined the timing, so Brad ran up and high-fived Tom instead.

Diana hesitantly reciprocated a high-five from both Brad and Tom. The trial had definitely been a win for Cassie and April and, while inadmissible, they now knew that Greg Spencer was involved with the Marked somehow. Rather than celebratory, though, that thought just made her angry about her taste in ex-boyfriends. 

"Skouris!" Washington snarled.

Diana braced himself for Agent Washington's wrath, but as usual, he was talking to April. 

"You are going to regret—"

"I wouldn't say anything else if I were you." The man who had been quietly sitting next to Meghan for the hearing waved forward two deputies.

The first deputy stepped forward, handcuffs already in hand, "Travis Thomas, you are under arrest."

Meghan beamed. "You remember Senior Director David Carrigan from the home office, don't you, _Travis_?"

"I _knew_ it was an alias!" Diana blurted out.

"But your wife is publicly using her real name," April said, "so it does no good as a secret agent name. Why would you use a different name?"

"Because it makes me sound more important than I really am like I'm the whole of Washington _and get me away from that woman_!"

"Lasso of Truth!" Brad cheered and April gave him his most enthusiastic high-five of the day.

♥…—…—…—…♥  


	17. Diana Lives Happily Ever After

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

It was a win. At least they were calling it a win. 

The former Agent Washington had been fired and while it didn't seem likely that any serious charges would stick, his career was over as was his marriage. Christopher Landry's trial had been postponed again as his new legal team scrambled to catch up. Diana was still optimistic that justice would be served in his case, but the criminal justice system grinds more slowly than the mills of God. Gregory Spencer cut a deal and provided evidence against everyone involved in the White Light 'scam', but he didn't seem to be aware of it as anything _more_ than a convoluted scam. The Marked hadn't filled him in on anything beyond what NTAC already knew. At least the men who tried to kill Kyle were going to jail even if they never did figure out exactly who had given the order.

And Cassie and April were free. The morning news reported that a federal judge had dismissed the government's attempt to keep Promise City locked under a travel quarantine. Matt's passport had even been approved. So, yes, it merited a party. Cassie offered up _Peacful Passions_ to host.

Nearly everyone was there except for Meghan and the man who should be celebrating not being dead, Kyle Baldwin. 

Maia squealed, "Marco!" and ran off to greet him as soon as they arrived. Diana belatedly realized how little Maia had gotten to see Marco lately. Her own conflicted feelings about their not-really-a-relationship had probably been getting in the way. She thought about scheduling some platonic hang-out time, but that felt awkward. She didn't want Maia to get her hopes up that they were building a family when Marco was likely to be moving on soon enough.

Senior Director David Carrigan was standing next to a vegetable tray looking out of place and slightly uncomfortable. His assistant had a blank smile pasted on his face. "Director Carrigan," Diana said, offering her hand. "I didn't expect you to still be in town."

"I'm flying back to D.C. in the morning actually, but I wanted to extend my thanks to you and your sister. I understand you were both instrumental in bringing Travis's indiscretions to light."

Diana blinked at _Travis_. She wasn't keen on anyone who had ever been on a first-name basis with Washington, even if he had been quick to have him arrested.

April read her mind. "Did you know Washington was a sleazeball when you sent him to us?"

"Obviously, but so is half of D.C." He winced but shifted it into a smile. "I had no foreknowledge of any of his specific actions."

Diana rolled her eyes and said to April. "Ask him if he told Washington to sort out Promise City by any means necessary."

"Mr. Carrigan, should my sister get a promotion?"

"Absolutely!" Carrigan said, relaxing into the familiar world of political negotiations. "As a matter of fact, Director Doyle has requested an extended leave of absence which means we have an immediate vacancy for an Acting Director. There's always the possibility of it turning into a permanent position."

"No," Diana said. "No. No amount of money in the world would be adequate recompense for running this circus. But you know who _would_ be good for the job.?" She nodded at the nearest Jed Garrity. "A man who can literally have eyes in every department."

"Well, I will certainly take your recommendation into consideration when discussing—"

"Just offer Jed the job and go away," April said. "Or should I ask more questions?"

"No. No more questions."

"And each Jed gets paid for every hour worked," Diana added quickly. "This isn't a blanket salary deal."

"Of course."

Carrigan hurriedly turned away from April and walked out moments later, leaving a rather confused Jed behind.

Tom entered just as Carrigan exited.

"Alternate timeline theory!" Brad yelled and high-fived Tom as he walked in the door.

"Do I want to know what that means?" Tom asked.

Marco shook his head, but said, "Brad and Slim had money riding on which method of time paradox is involved in Marked technology."

Slim nodded. "If we're in a time loop then the efforts of the future, for good or bad, are doomed. We repeat their history exactly as it happened for them. Obviously, everyone involved is banking on their ability to create a time paradox, to change the past or at least generate another timeline that doesn't end in the same place."

"And the alternate theory only benefits the altruistically minded," Brad interrupted, "since their past stays the same while our future changes."

"Their past stays the same while our future changes," Tom repeated blankly.

Diana was right there with him for once. As much as she tried to pay attention, time paradoxes always made her brain shut down.

"In an alternate timeline scenario, you can't actually change the past, but every new outcome creates a distinct future. Only the good guys would put that much effort into something that wouldn't benefit them."

"On the other hand," Slim said, "if this is a single timestream paradox than either the Marked win or they fail but get infinite attempts to keep trying until they win, but that presupposed they remember every scenario which almost rules itself out. If they can't learn from their failures, then they infinitely repeat the same mistakes."

"Okay," Tom said, glancing toward Diana for help.

"If we're in an alternate timestream," Marco said, "they can't affect us once we branch off from the point where they were defeated in our universe."

"Alternate timeline theory means we win," Brad said. "Have a beer."

"Excellent," Tom said, quickly taking advantage of the opportunity to leave the time paradox discussion behind.

Diana had thought _Peaceful Passion_ was a small shop the first time she'd been in it, but compared to Jed Garrity's living room it was spacious. Sibyl and Ronnie—who had a change of heart after taking Diana's advice and looking up the word _verruca_ —had also moved all the furniture to the side of the room for the duration of the party, opening up the space dramatically.

"Ronnie is just temporary," Veronica said. "I want something a little more… ethereal. I was thinking of Verity, but… that's a bit of a conflict, isn't it?"

"There's nothing wrong with irony," Sibyl said. 

"I'm not sure I understand the irony," Diana said, lilting her voice so that she hoped they caught the hidden question.

" _We_ are Cassandra, Sibyl, and Verity, but _April_ is the one with the power of truth."

Diana glanced at her sister.

"We're going into business together!" April squealed.

"You are going to sell—" Diana glanced around the room at what still looked like an embarrassing hodgepodge of Northern European and Native American quasi-spiritual folk art. Her eye desperately searched for an example of their wares that didn't make her cringe. The dream catcher with a yin-yang symbol _and_ a smiley face charm just didn't bear mentioning. "You're going to sell incense and fairy greeting cards?"

April shrugged. "Well, that too. But the main thing is emotional healing sessions."

"Emotional…?"

"Ronnie, or are we going with Verity? I don't really care, just pick one. Verity can make people feel safe and calm."

"Can she make people feel _decisive_?" Brad asked.

"That would be confidence," Verity said. "And yes. But no. My ability doesn't work on myself. I've tried."

"Verity can make people feel safe and calm," April repeated. "And Sibyl gives these amazing heated neck massages. And then I can get people to honestly answer questions about what's bothering them or just what they think would make them happy. And Cassandra… um…"

"Cassandra makes all of our advertising posters," Sibyl said. "And she knows how to work the credit card machine. She's actually pretty useful."

Diana glanced over to where Cassandra Dunleavy was napping in one of the embroidered wing-back chairs in the corner.

"Y'know, when she's awake," Verity added.

"She's not technically asleep," Sibyl said. "She's just not entirely _here_."

"She has somewhere better to be than a party?" Diana asked, although she immediately imaged dozens of more exciting parties Cassie's ability could take her to instead of nibbling cheese at _Peaceful Passion_.

"She's with Kyle and Meghan," April said.

"They're saving the planet," Brad added.

"Remember the weird guy who talks to his goldfish? He and Kyle are buddies now on account of Kyle can breathe underwater and Bart can talk to fish. So they're helping Meghan help all his fishy friends who are pissed off about plastic trash. She's like making kelp or something. I honestly wasn't paying attention."

Diana honestly wasn't paying attention either because halfway through April's explanation, Brad casually slipped his arm around her and April leaned into him like that was a normal thing to do.

"Wait, wait, wait. You two? Are a thing?"

"We're going to get married and have many babies," Brad announced.

"Married?!"

"And _possibly_ have _one_ baby and see how that goes. The babies are very much still up for debate."

"Married?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why?!" She didn't mean to be that rude, but Brad was… Brad. He was the exact opposite of April's type.

"Brad, could you excuse us for a moment?" April grabbed Diana and dragged her to the other side of the room. Before Diana could get a word out, April said, "Ask him what he thinks of our new business plan."

"April, have you really known Brad long enough to _marry_ him. Last week you thought his name was Brent."

"Ask. Him. What. He. Thinks. Of. Our. New. Business. Plan." She shooed Diana in Brad's direction. "Go on. Ask him."

Diana turned and worked her way through a crowd that seemed to be half Garrities. He hadn't bothered to number or color-coordinate himselves either. Jed was by the snack table. Jed was talking to Tom and Marco in the corner. Jed was discussing causality chains with Slim. Jed was having a really weird conversation with Abigail and Matt about monogamy as a function of time limitations.

"We'd only dated a few times before the outbreak," Jed said, "so it's not like it would necessarily have gone anywhere anyway, but after we both developed abilities it was just over. She became paranoid that I was cheating on her, not because she had any reason to believe I would, but just because I _could_. We'd be in the middle of a date and she'd start grilling me about whether I was with another woman at the same time. She kept using her super-magnivision to examine my clothes looking for telltale lipstick stains and stray hairs."

"But here's my point," Matt said, "you think your only option is to find a person who is so confident she can fulfill all your desires that she'd never worry you'd cheat. But option two is to find partners who don't mind sharing."

"You're living in a fantasy world. I'd never find someone like that, let alone more than one."

"No, he has a point," Abigail said. "Jealousy is fundamentally about fear of loss. I don't want my boyfriend dating someone else because that's less time for me and if he starts spending _more_ time with her then I might lose him entirely. But if I had a boyfriend who was always there for me—helped with chores, went to my favorite movies with me, cuddled on the couch with me, made me tea, yet he still had time for his own hobbies and interests—I'm not sure it would bother me if he was also having sex with someone else."

April nudged Diana in the back. Their grandmother's ghost whispered nice girls don't eavesdrop.

"So that's one," Matt said, "as for a second partner, I'd say that the whole point of your ability is the opportunity to experiment with new things you wouldn't normally make time for. Take a night class. Start a new hobby. Engage in a new workout routine. Consider a sexual partner you might not have thought of before."

"Aren't you leaving the country now that your passport has been approved?" Jed asked and Diana didn't think he was actually changing the subject. "You're off to join the Peace Corp or something?"

"Always a possibility, but I can think of a few reasons to stick around with NTAC," Matt said. "If anyone at NTAC is interested that is."

April shoved Diana hard enough that she couldn't stop herself from being pushed away without it resulting in an obvious scuffle. 

"He's totally doing it with himself," April whispered in her ear.

"He's totally about to do it with Matt," Diana whispered back. "Were you not paying attention to that?"

"Priorities. Ask Brad."

Diana returned to where Brad was hovering over the snacks and asked, "So, Brad, what do you think of April's new business venture?"

"Could go either way," he mumbled around a mouthful of Cheetos. "It certainly has the potential for success, but also the potential for catastrophic failure. Like not just going out of business failure, but potentially _catastrophic_ failure. Like not everyone is totally chill with facing their own truth so even though mellow-power chick can make them all fine with it in the moment, some people could go home and mull that shit over and then get all unpredictably freaking over it. Right? So you gotta get people to sign a release form first. Also, they need to think about getting a bouncer or something because if you put 'massage' on a flyer, that's gonna attract weirdos."

Diana glanced at April who, rather than being discouraged by his assessment, was bouncing on her toes. "Brad," she said, placing her hands on either side of his face and ensuring square eye contact. "What do you think of me going into business as a Truth Therapist?" 

Brad blinked at her and pointed at Diana, "What I just said to her." 

"Isn't he perfect?" April asked.

"He's perfect _for you_ and I'm so happy you've found someone with compatible social failings."

"Oh, I get it!" Brad laughed. "Lasso of Truth!" He high-fived April.

Diana refilled her cheese plate and headed back to Tom and Marco's corner. Matt and Abigail had already split off to separate sides of the room, each with a Jed of their own, both couples engaged in _intense_ conversation based on their body language. Diana resisted the urge to try to eavesdrop on her way back through the room.

"Cheese?" she offered by way of greeting. Tom and Marco each accepted a piece of cheese, but Jed declined.

"I learned my lesson over Thanksgiving," Jed said. "One designated eater per party."

"Yeah, having to reintegrate on a full stomach," Tom said. "Ugh. I can imagine that was pretty unpleasant."

"Not just that, I actually weigh more now than before… before I lost a significant fraction of my mass." Jed cleared his throat and said, "If you'll excuse me."

Jed walked away and joined another Jed in conversation. Perhaps a little self-therapy.

"I understand Kyle and Meghan are off saving the world," Diana said to Tom.

"So, that's twice we've saved the world this week," Marco laughed.

"I must have missed the first one," Diana said. "When was this?"

"Well, it's theoretical," Marco said. "But Tom here might have just prevented key figures in our dystopian future from ever being born, which means it might not be _our_ future anymore."

"You think Travis and Victoria Thomas were the grandparents of an evil future diverted by screwing up their marriage?"

"I wasn't lying. Their kids were going to be full on sociopaths."

"If time travel works like a loop, the future cannot be changed any more than the past can be changed making the entire original 4400 project a wasted effort," Marco said. "But if time travel creates alternate timelines, we may have just branched."

"So that's what Brad was getting at," Diana said. "Okay, that deserves a toast."

"Should you be drinking?" Tom asked.

Diana's blood turned to ice. "Why _shouldn't_ I be drinking?"

"You're driving aren't you?"

"Jesus, Tom, you just scared me to death. A word of advice for the walking pregnancy test, don't ask women if they should be drinking if they are not pregnant. No, I'm not driving as a matter of fact. I'm teleporting." She patted Marco on the shoulder. "This is my designated teleporter for the evening. _He_ shouldn't be drinking.

"Although, you would have really cute kids this month."

"Kids? Plural?" Marco asked.

"No guarantee, but you've got a significantly increased chance of twins this month."

Maia slipped up to Diana's side and took a piece of cheese off her plate. " _So. Many. Diapers._ " 

"Thanks for the warning," Diana said.

"Yeah, thanks," Marco said, "sincerely, although… I'm going to suggest you try to limit your advice, Tom. We have to think about why they wanted to manipulate you into taking a promicin shot. They had to expect there to be some advantage to your ability in this time and place.

"Yeah, I never understood that," Tom said. "Ultimately it completely backfired on them."

Diana nodded. "That's probably because they couldn't see sociopathy as a flaw anyone would want to prevent. Narcissism's ultimate failing."

"But they most likely did see a 'flaw' in someone else they thought they could take advantage of. And if anyone's ability could be used to manipulate the future, Tom, yours certainly could," Marco pointed out. "You now have the ability to influence who is even _born_ into the next generation. Ripple effects can go both ways. What if an influential person in the future, one of their opponents, had a congenital disability? Could that person be taken out of the equation as easily as 'warning' the great-grandparents about their genetic risks? You've said that healthy shouldn't be taken for granted, but there's more to a person and their value to society than physical ability."

Tom nodded solemnly. "Imagine being able to tell a couple who are genetic carriers Huntington's that they just need to wait until next month to conceive a healthy baby. Yet what if someone had told Meghan's grandparents that before her father was born? She might not exist. What's the good of having an ability if I'm afraid that using it will alter the future?"

"The ultimate question of free will," Marco muttered. "Are we responsible to the future of an alternate time stream or can we move forward from here with all of our decisions leading to undiscovered possibilities?"

"Asking the theorists questions usually only gets you a half dozen more questions," Diana said apologetically. "But I think you can safely warn couples about the risk of non-viable offspring without affecting the future. You could try talking to the local hospital. See if they can recommend situations where screening would be helpful—"

"Squid!" Cassie screamed.

All conversation stopped and everyone turned to stare at where Cassie was now sitting bolt upright and gasping for breath.

"Sorry. Squid. They're really gross. I don't mind the rays so much, but the squid really freak me out. I don't do squid." She got up and walked over to the snacks. "Do we have any cheese left?"

"So, Kyle and Cassie seem to have made up?" 

"He says having an extra pair of eyes underwater is helpful," Tom said frowning. He called across the room to Cassie, "Excuse me, but aren't you supposed to be helping Kyle right now?"

"I don't do squid!" Cassie repeated. 

Brad asked Cassie a question that Diana couldn't make out above the noise as everyone's conversations resumed, but Cassie laughed loudly enough to be heard. "It's awesome! I'm fucking Aquaman!"

"Jesus, I hope not," Tom muttered under his breath.

"Speaking of," Diana whispered into Marco's ear. He blushed and nodded. 

"Will you excuse us for a moment, Tom?" Marco said and taking Diana's hand and led her away. He pulled her behind a bookshelf full of candles and asked, "Ready to get out of here?"

"Almost. Give me just a moment." And a moment, from his perspective, was all she needed. Everyone in the room froze, including Marco. 

Everyone froze except for Diana and Abigail.

"What the…?" Abigail blinked at Jed locked in time before her and then around the room to everyone else.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. But… can we have a private word? I've got a question that I can't figure out. Why did you break up with Marco? He's kind of perfect. You get along great even after the breakup. You're so compatible. He thinks he did something wrong, but I still haven't figured out what it is, because… that man follows directions to the letter. I couldn't ask for more."

"Seriously, Diana? That's kind of a guy way of thinking about things, isn't it? Reducing things to pure mechanics? And I could just as easily ask him the same question. I broke up with Marco because I felt like he just wasn't that into _me_ , or if he was, he was too repressed to ever show it. I need a guy who opens up and says 'I love you' occasionally, y'know."

"Not just in bed," Diana agreed. Marco was certainly quite vocal during sex, but he wasn't prone to romantic musings otherwise. "I get that."

"Not _even_ in bed," Abigail said. "It's like he's allergic to the words."

Diana's brain locked up for a millisecond. "Wait, he _never_ said he loved you? Not even at the height of passion?"

"Never."

"Wow. Okay. So… if Marco blurted out that he loves me… he probably actually meant it?"

 _He actually loves me?_ Diana was fully aware that she broke into a huge smile which might have been deemed inappropriate, but she couldn't stop herself. Every single it's-not-a-real-relationship thought she'd ever had bounced away into oblivion.

"I'm going to have sex with four Jed Garrities tonight," Abigail said. "Eat your heart out."

"I think this is a win for everyone," Diana agreed. "Have fun."

She returned to Marco and rejoined time. "I'm ready. Let's go." 

In a blink, they were standing in a field. "Was that rude?" he asked. "To leave without saying goodbye?"

"We can be back almost as soon as we left," Diana assured him. "They won't mind."

"You sure about this?" Marco asked. "We can still do Paris."

Diana looked around again and laughed. He'd taken her to a haystack.

"Paris is still on the list, but let's take care of this one now."

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Does this need a final sex scene? I'm torn between a final sex scene being gratuitous and thinking not including a final sex scene is a cheat. Opinions?~~ **By a unanimous vote (of 1 to 0), there will be a chapter 18!**


	18. Diana Has Gratuitous Sex

♥…—…—…—…♥ 

Marco took Diana's hand and gently tugged her forward. He moved slowly and watched her eyes for encouragement, yet he was no longer tentative. These days his movements had a playful confidence. 

Diana found herself in the perfect kiss, sweet and wet and dizzying.  _When did they get so good at this?_

Marco broke off the kiss first and Diana followed him trancelike as he led her to their haystack.

"Okay, don't freeze time for a minute," Marco said. "I'll be right back."

Marco disappeared. She'd been hoping to mask their absence by only being gone a few seconds, but she didn't think anyone at the party—not even Maia—would begrudge them popping out for a few minutes.

She was left standing in the field. A few clouds dotted the sky and she couldn't make out the exact position of the sun, but it seemed fairly close to noon. What time zone would that put them in? Asia or Australia at a guess.

Diana glanced over at a large black cow and tried to make a guess at its nationality. A dozen of its cow friends began to walk over to greet their visitor.

"I should apologize," Diana told the cows. "That hay is probably your dinner."

The nearest cow shook a fly off of its ear just as Marco returned. She sped them both back up immediately. There was still a chance of getting back to the party without being missed. The cow continued to shake its head in slow motion. She made a mental note to test out photography. She might have a new hobby.

Marco was carrying an honest-to-goodness picnic basket.

Diana had to laugh. "This is adorable."

"You wanted a roll in the hay," Marco said, pulling a thick plaid blanket out of the basket, "but that's no reason we have to do it like barbarians. There are advantages to civilization." 

"I don't know," Diana said, twirling her hair coquettishly. "Barbarian-style sounds interesting too."

"Hay is scratchy," Marco said, missing the implication, as he spread the blanket out on top of the hay. "You'll thank me later."

"Marco Pacella, practical romantic."

Marco sighed. "Is this something we're going to have to discuss in our next debriefing?"

"I wasn't being sarcastic. You are my dear, sweet, _practical_ Marco. It's one of the things I love about you."

Marco avoided eye contact as he fussed over the position of the blanket.

"We should probably talk about that first," Diana said.

"Hm?"

"The L-word."

Marco stopped fussing over the blanket, but he still didn't meet Diana in the eye. "I've been working on that," he said. "Limiting overeffusive comments that might be misinterpreted. Got it."

"You know the one really dumb thing about our experiment?" Diana asked. "I mean aside from the fact that neither of us ever remembers to keep a food log so we're no closer to proving or disproving diet-related oral sex myths. The dumb thing is that we've been working on the assumption that the advice we give each other has any bearing at all on our ability to sexually please other people. We've trained each other to kiss _just so_." 

She brushed Marco's bangs out of his eyes and kissed him. His eyes fluttered closed and his arms slipped all the way around her. When she broke the kiss, he didn't let go, but only watched her with a slightly confused expression."

"To touch _just so_."

She ran one hand over his chest, palming circles over his left pectoral. She could feel the nipple hard beneath the fabric of his shirt and it made her a little smug.  _I did that._

She leaned in and whispered in his ear—because one of the other things she'd learned was how much he loved it when she did that even when they were alone and whispering was unnecessary.

"To fuck _just so_."

Marco moaned.

"Of course you see the flaw in our premise?" Diana asked.

Marco frowned. "Wha—?"

"All people are different. I tell you to go slow and gentle, but the next woman you have sex with might be disappointed if you aren't fast and rough. You tell me you like having your nipples teased," she added, licking her finger and then sliding it inside his shirt for direct contact, "but the next guy might hate that. Don't you see, Marco? All we've done is become perfect lovers for _each other_. I don't know how to break this to you, but you might be stuck having sex with me _forever_."

Marco laughed. "Oh, no," he said dryly. "However will I survive?"

Diana kicked her shoes off and flopped onto the haystack. If April had asked her ten minutes ago if she _really_ wanted to have sex in a haystack, she would have admitted that it was just a silly idea she'd had once and that it didn't sound nearly as appealing as a nice comfortable mattress. The fact that Marco had gone to the effort to find a haystack in a secluded field and provided a blanket and whatever other surprises the picnic basket held… she was reasonably sure she could pass the April-test now.

She crooked her finger at Marco inviting him to join her. Marco took off his glasses and slipped them into his jacket pocket. He then took off his jacket, looked around as if he expected a coat rack to materialize, and finally tossed it on top of the basket.

She waited until he crawled up and kissed her again before adding, "We actually do need to be a tiny bit serious for a moment."

"Okay."

"I've been an idiot," Diana said.

Marco scoffed and started to speak.

"Let me finish," she said. "I've been an idiot. I've had a couple of epiphanies just recently that have made me realize exactly how big of an idiot."

Diana tucked herself into Marco's side. 

"I'm going to need maximum cuddles to get through this, okay?"

Marco wrapped both arms around her. "I have your cuddles covered."

"Good. So first, I have to apologize. When I broke up with you, I had it in my head that our relationship wasn't serious enough. I was playing it safe with someone who would never hurt me, or some bull like that. I don't remember what excuse I used. Basically, I had everything all twisted around backward. I thought passion went hand in hand with heartbreak and screaming fights. I was trying to come to terms with the fact that I hadn't been in a serious relationship in years and then instead of dealing with it, I pushed away from the one serious relationship I'd only just started."

"Old news," Marco said, hugging her tightly. "Water under the bridge."

"When I thought you'd died… Afterward… I thought back on it and… at first, I thought I was some kind of monster. I tried to imagine how I would have reacted if you'd actually died. I knew how I should react, how any rational person would react. But I couldn't feel anything. And then I realized that it was because if you died then it meant I would never feel anything ever again."

"'A _tiny_ bit serious,' Diana," Marco protested. "You said 'a tiny bit serious.' What do you think counts as 'fairly serious'."

Diana answered that with a new question, "Do you want to have kids?"

"What?!"

"I'm not asking you to make a decision right now. I assume there are condoms in that basket?" At his nod, she said, "We will definitely be using them at least this time."

"'This time,'" he repeated. "You're serious?"

"I've always had two main obstacles to children. One is maintaining a stable relationship and two is just a lack of time. NTAC isn't exactly generous with maternity benefits. Even adopting Maia seemed like a stretch at the time and at least she was already housebroken when I got her. I could never have handled a newborn. Diapers, midnight feedings, doctor visits. Who can cope with that?"

"A Mom who can bend time and a Dad who can teleport," Marco answered, sounding a little awed, but not nearly as panicked at the idea as she had feared.

"So, yeah, just putting the thought out there."

"We should get a puppy," Marco said.

Diana sat up and stared at him. "A puppy?"

"Not as a _substitute_ for a baby. Just as practice. A trial run. Like if we can keep a puppy alive for six months _then_ we can talk about a baby." Marco frowned. "Maybe before we get a puppy we should start with a goldfish or a houseplant."

"I know where we could get a frog."

Rather than laugh, Marco said, "That's actually a great idea. Jones can debrief the frog and ask if we did a good job."

"I can't even tell if you're serious."

"I will read bedtime stories to the frog if it makes you happy," Marco insisted.

It was possibly not the most romantic moment. She could have waited until they got their clothes off. Rolling in the hay at the height of passion. But the image of Marco tucking a frog in for the night just to make her happy was more than enough. "Marco Pacella, I love you," she said, her voice breaking slightly at the end.

Marco was silent for about three heartbeats longer than was really comfortable, but he finally said, "I don't think my feelings have ever really been a secret, but just in case it's not already completely clear, Diana Skouris, I love you, too."

"Is that enough heartfelt conversation?" she asked, wiping away tears she hadn't even realized that she'd cried. "I'm ready to get naked. You?" 

"I feel like the cows are watching us," Marco said.

"The cows are watching an interesting blur," Diana assured him. "They can't see anything."

She unbuttoned his shirt which was all the invitation he needed. He reached for her shirt as she was still unbuttoning his and they undressed in a tangle of limbs and flying clothing. She pulled him down onto the blanket almost roughly and he moaned in her ear. She could smell the hay through the blanket, a constant reminder that Marco had done this ridiculous thing just for her. 

He ran his tongue along her neck and she arched back inviting more. He obliged, all the while stroking at her hip with one hand, clutching her hair with the other.

Diana curled one leg to stroke his thigh and he understood the signal immediately. He slid one hand between her legs where she was already wet and eager. As she pulled him in for a long, hungry kiss, she could feel his erection pressing against her. She had to fight against her own instincts. Every fiber of her being wanted to draw him inside her instantly without delay. 

"Condom?" she gasped between kisses.

"What? Oh, right."

Marco shoved his jacket off of the picnic basket and pulled out a condom and lube.

"We're not going to need that," Diana assured him, tossing the lube back into the basket. She did a double-take when she realized it landed on a sex toy. "Well, maybe later," she amended.

She helped him put on the condom and then wasted no time getting down to business.

Marco settled back onto the blanket. He propped himself up on his elbows so he could enjoy the view as Diana straddled him. She thrust her hips gently at first, slowly working up to the more vigorous rhythm he prefered. The stack of hay remained more solid than she had expected. She was able to brace herself quite firmly as she rocked and bounced.

"God, I love you!" Marco gasped.

"Not yet, sweetie," Diana said slowing her hips.

"No, that wasn't the 'I'm about to come' warning," Marco said. "I just love you and I love being able to say that out loud. So I'm going to say it a lot. I love you."

Diana laughed, glanced around at a wide open field of time-locked cows, and shouted, "I love you!" at the top of her lungs.

She leaned forward and ran both hands over Marco's chest the way she knew he liked and licked a teasing kiss on his lips before rocking back and resuming their prior pace.

Diana was just edging towards an orgasm slightly out of reach when Marco gasped, "God! Okay, _that's_ the 'I'm gonna come' warning." He gently extricated himself, rolling Diana onto her back.

He had a delightful ladies-first attitude toward orgasms, perhaps still trying to make up for their first encounter. He'd already paid her back a thousand-fold, but Diana was hardly going to argue as he licked his way inside her.

"Yes!" Diana screamed, loud and free with no worries of bothering neighbors. No concern for what absolutely anyone else thought at all. Only she and Marco mattered here.

Working diligently with fingers and tongue, Marco brought her off to a stunning climax, though not necessarily the real climax of the event. With enough skill, Diana was becoming reliably, rather than sporadically, multi-orgasmic.  

Marco's foot shifted off the edge of the haystack and he stood up to readjust their position. "Are you sure the cows aren't watching us?" Marco asked.

Diana sat up and glanced at them. The cows _did_ seem to be paying more attention. Well, that only made sense. The interesting blur was now making odd squeaks. They still had plenty of time before the nearest cow got close enough to be an issue.

"Well, I wouldn't want to try this in a crowd of _people_ ," Diana admitted, kneeling in front of Marco. She began playfully licking at his scrotum below the bottom edge of the condom. 

Marco shivered. He actually loved being teased. Where some guys would be annoyed at the delay, Marco seemed to enjoy the anticipation.

Diana stood up, taking advantage of the uneven footing to gain a height advantage over him and drew him into another kiss. Standing made her feel more exposed and she was again a bit surprised at herself for enjoying the thrill. 

"Ready to bring this home?" she purred.

Marco only responded with an inarticulate groan, and his hips bucked into her.

She settled herself back down on the blanket, legs wide in a distinctly unladylike pose.

"I'm ready when you are, tiger."

Marco didn't hesitate. It was a good solid fucking without a lot of nuance to it. Diana appreciated a more aggressive style on a second round. She also appreciated how Marco had learned to adapt his technique for a variety of situations.

He came shouting various professions of his love. One of the cows had developed a slightly concerned look.

Marco began fingering her clitoris while he was still inside her until second later she was shouting equally ridiculous things, cows forgotten. 

She nearly drifted off to sleep in her blissful post-coital fog, Marco's weight almost comforting as he almost certainly _did_ drift off. She let him doze a moment before nudging him.

"I don't know if I'd already warned you about this, but my Kryptonite is water pipes. I can't bend time and get water to flow into a time bubble faster than it's flowing outside the bubble. So, no popping home for a shower. I don't suppose you packed wet wipes in that basket."

"I did," Marco said fuzzily, finally rolling over, "because I am brilliant."

She let Marco fumble off the condom while she dug through the picnic basket. There were even more toys than she'd spotted at first and not all of them seemed designed for _her_. There was certainly more lube than she would ever need herself. She held up an interesting rainbow colored item. "Is this a request for next time?" she asked.

"When the cows aren't watching," Marco said.

They cleaned up and got dressed. Diana couldn't resist patting one of the cows on the head before they left. 

They zipped back to Marco's place for the half-second necessary to drop off the picnic basket and returned to the party. They reappeared behind the shelf of candles and Diana verified they were out of anyone's sightline before she slowed them back to normal time.

"I don't know about you," Diana said, "but I've worked up an appetite. I hope there's still cheese."

She walked over to the snacks, a bounce in her step. She almost had to fight back the impulse to skip.

"Did you know you have hay in your hair?" Brad asked at typical Brad-volume, that is to say, the entire room turned and looked at Marco and Diana.

Maia rolled her eyes and walked away muttering, " _So_ many diapers."

♥…—…—…—…♥

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you are wondering, it is the rainbow dildo strap-on from _Sense8_ making a cameo appearance.

**Author's Note:**

> full character list, including spoilers
> 
> show characters:  
> Diana Skouris  
> Marco Pacella  
> Abigail Hunnicutt  
> Jed Garrity  
> Meghan Doyle  
> April Skouris  
> Tom Baldwin  
> Kyle Baldwin  
> Cassie Dunleavy  
> Maia Skouris  
> Brady (referenced posthumously only)  
> Ashmore (referenced posthumously only)  
> Danny Farrell (referenced posthumously only)  
> (Shawn Farrell and Jordan Collier are mentioned but never appear)
> 
> And, just in case you are scratching your head going, "I don't remember this character from the show" all of these people were invented for the convenience of the story:  
> Matt Carmichael  
> Brad Kent  
> Slim Jim Miller  
> Agent Washington  
> Travis and Victoria Thomas  
> Bartholomew Jones and his frogs  
> everyone in the frat house  
> Greg-the-Lawyer Spencer  
> Veronica/Verucca/Verity Salinas  
> Jennifer/Sibyl  
> David Carrigan  
> the judge  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> [afteriwake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake) made a wallpaper for this story:  
> 
> 
> Blessings upon everyone who made it all the way to the end! Thank you! (I'm sorry?) Pop in over at [Dreamwidth](https://oldtoadwoman.dreamwidth.org) if you want to say hi or just leave a comment below. I accept ♥s if you don't have words.


End file.
